


Hazel Hatter and The deathly Hallows part 1

by Amelia_Ponds_Glasses



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-12
Packaged: 2018-05-13 11:44:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5706403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia_Ponds_Glasses/pseuds/Amelia_Ponds_Glasses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hazel Hatter, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley's, four best friends, go on a mission to destroy all the horecruxes.<br/>Romance, comedy, joy, pain, loss, sadness, cause this journey to never be forgotten.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hazel Hatter and The deathly Hallows part 1

"Hazel, listen . . ." Harry said very quietly, as the buzz of conversation grew louder around them and people began to get to their feet, "I can’t be involved with you anymore . We’ve got to stop seeing each other. We can’t be together." She said, with an oddly twisted smile, "It’s for some stupid, noble reason, isn’t it?"  
"It’s been like ...like something out of someone else’s life, these last few years, whenever I'm alone with you," said Harry. "But I can’t ...we can’t ...I’ve got things to do alone now." She did not cry, she simply looked at him. "Alone? Harry, your never going to be alone. Not ever, because I will always be there with you, forever. Even if you hate me. I will never leave you." She said softly. He looked at her, open mouthed, hesitated, then said "Think how much danger you’ll be in if we keep this up. He’ll know, he’ll find out. He’ll try and get to me through you."  
"What if I don’t care?" said Hazel fiercely. "I care," said Harry. "How do you think I’d feel if this was your funeral . . . and it was my fault. . . ." She looked away from him, over the lake.  
"How do you think I would feel if this was your funeral, Harry? Because I listened to you! Because I stayed away! Because I was daft, again, and took your advice! I was a good little girl and I listened to the boy who Lived, just like everyone else? How would I feel?!" She asked, through a shaking voice, just thinking of that happening. When Harry didn't answer Hazel looked back. "And it would be my fault. But that's not going to happen, because you're not doing this with out me. I will go after you. And if you leave with out me, Harry James Potter, you Rcan bet your broomstick I will find you." She said. Harry sighed, then smiled a bit. "Your so stubborn." He said. "You always have been." Hazel didn't smile, she kept a straight face. "You can't get rid of me." She said. "You can't. You just can't come." He said. "I will find those Horecruxes. And I am ready, I am prepared to leave everything behind, for you. You just don't get it. I love you, I have since the moment I met you. I knew then and there, even if we didn't date, or get married, that I would never leave your side. Not because you where famous, because you are part of me. You are my best friend, and I might not be yours, but I would give me LIFE for you, in a second." She said. He thought for a moment. "You can come, but you have to be very, very, very careful! Because I would never forgive myself if something happened to you." Hazel smiled, and gave him a hug. "Same goes for you." She whispered. 

Hazel stood outside number four privet drive, in the garden. She looked through the window and saw her best friend looking out the window at her. Her heart gave a leap as she watched him smile. Suddenly she felt the cold twice rise off her back, and she knew Harry could see her and the others. Wrenching open the back door, Harry hurtled into their midst. There was a general cry of greeting as Hermione flung her arms around him, Ron clapped him on the back, and Hagrid said, "All righ’, Harry? Ready fer the off?"  
"Definitely," said Harry, beaming around at them all. "But I wasn’t expecting this many of you!"  
"Change of plan," growled Mad-Eye, who was holding two enormous, bulging sacks, and whose magical eye was spinning from darkening sky to house to garden with dizzying rapidity. "Let’s get undercover before we talk you through it."Harry led them all back into the kitchen where, laughing and chattering, they settled on chairs, sat themselves upon Aunt Petunia’s gleaming work surfaces, or leaned up against her spotless appliances: Ron, long and lanky; Hermione, her bushy hair tied back in a long plait; Hazel, thin, and wild haired; Fred and George, grinning identically; Bill, badly scarred and long-haired; Mr. Weasley, kind-faced, balding, his spectacles a little awry; Mad-Eye, battle-worn, one-legged, his bright blue magical eye whizzing in its socket; Tonks, whose short hair was her favorite shade of bright pink; Lupin, grayer, more lined; Fleur, slender and beautiful, with her long silvery blonde hair; Kingsley, bald, black, broad-shouldered; Hagrid, with his wild hair and beard, standing hunchbacked to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling; and Mundungus Fletcher, small, dirty, and hangdog, with his droopy basset hound’s eyes and matted hair. Hazel ran to Harry, he embraced her in a hug. "Oh, it's so wonderful to see you!" She whispered. "Its good to see you too." Said Harry. "I've missed you terribly." Said Hazel. Then she pulled away and kissed his cheek and forehead. "Ugh, your alive! I have been so worried. I know I could just fly here but I'm too nervous!" Said Hazel, shaking. "Its ok. We are all here now." Said Harry. "I know. I know." Replied Hazel. Harry gave her a quick kiss then looked across the room. "Kingsley, I thought you were looking after the Muggle Prime Minister?" he called across the room. "He can get along without me for one night," said Kingsley. "You’re more important."  
"Harry, guess what?" said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glittered there. "You got married?" Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin. "I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, Harry, it was very quiet." said Tonks. "But it was so pretty." Said Hazel (she was Tonks cousin. Mrs. Tonks was her mum's sister, it was for the best though, that way Hazel had a mentor for growing up as a witch. But being a former black has its down falls for Mrs. Hatter. Such as being cousins with Draco Malfoy, and Having Bellatrix Lestrange as an aunt, and her, being the squib of the family. A disgrace. But there is upsides, such as Tonks. But anyway, naturally they where there.)  
"That’s brilliant, congrat —"  
"All right, all right, we’ll have time for a cozy catch-up later!"roared Moody over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. Moody dropped his sacks at his feet and turned to Harry. "As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He’s made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother’s charm does that already. What he’s really done is to stop you getting out of here safely. "Second problem: You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you."  
"I don’t —"  
"The Trace, the Trace!" said Mad-Eye impatiently. "The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters. "We can’t wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you’ll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short: Pius Thicknesse thinks he’s got you cornered good and proper."Harry could not help but agree with the unknown Thicknesse. "So what are we going to do?"  
"We’re going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can’t detect, because we don’t need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and Hagrid’s motorbike." Harry could see flaws in this plan; however, he held his tongue to give Mad-Eye the chance to address them. "Now, your mother’s charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or"—Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen —"you no longer call this place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the full understanding that you’re never going to live together again, correct?" Harry nodded. "So this time, when you leave, there’ll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We’re choosing to break it early, because the alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen. "The one thing we’ve got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn’t know we’re moving you tonight. We’ve leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think you’re not leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so we can’t just rely on him getting the date wrong; he’s bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we’re going to hide you, they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley’s place, Molly’s Auntie Muriel’s —you get the idea."  
"Yeah," said Harry, not entirely truthfully, because he could still spot a gaping hole in the plan. "You’ll be going to Tonks’s parents. Once you’re within the boundaries of the protective enchantments we’ve put on their house, you’ll be able to use a Portkey to the Burrow. Any questions?"  
"Er —yes," said Harry. "Maybe they won’t know which of the twelve secure houses I’m heading for at first, but won’t it be sort of obvious once"—he performed a quick headcount —"fifteen of us fly off toward Tonks’s parents’?""Ah," said Moody, "I forgot to mention the key point. Fourteen of us won’t be flying to Tonks’s parents’. There will be seven Harry Potters moving through the skies tonight, each of them with a companion, each pair heading for a different safe house." From inside his cloak Moody now withdrew a flask of what looked like mud. There was no need for him to say another word; Harry understood the rest of the plan immediately. "No!" he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. "No way!"  
"I told them you’d take it like this," said Hermione with a hint of complacency. "If you think I’m going to let six people risk their lives —!"  
"—because it’s the first time for all of us," said Ron. "This is different, pretending to be me —"  
"Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry," said Fred earnestly. "Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever."  
"I mean, really, imagine being best friends with three Harry's. Total hell." Said Hazel. Harry scowled. "Are you going to drink polyjuice too?" Asked Harry, worriedly. "No, I have a more important job." Said. "God, now I'm worried." He moaned. You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate, you need me to give you some hair."  
"Well, that’s that plan scuppered," said George. "Obviously there’s no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate."  
"Yeah, fourteen of us against one bloke who’s not allowed to use magic; we’ve got no chance," said Fred. "Funny," said Harry, "really amusing."  
"If it has to come to force, then it will," growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. "Moody! Harry, don't let it come to force. Please." Said Hazel, swinging her arms around his shoulders from behind. "Everyone here’s overage, Potter, and they’re all prepared to take the risk."Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glare at him out of the side of Moody’s head. "Let’s have no more arguments. Time’s wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, boy, now."  
"But this is mad, there’s no need —"  
"No need!" snarled Moody. "With You-Know-Who out there and half the Ministry on his side? Potter, if we’re lucky he’ll have swallowed the fake bait and he’ll be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he’d be mad not to have a Death Eater or two keeping an eye out, it’s what I’d do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your mother’s charm holds, but it’s about to break and they know the rough position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can’t split himself into seven."Harry caught Hermione’s eye and looked away at once, and Hazel caught Ron's. "So, Potter —some of your hair, if you please." Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way. "Now!" barked Moody. With all of their eyes upon him, Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed a hank of hair, and pulled. "Good," said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. "Straight in here, if you please." Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold. "Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry," said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, "Oh, you know what I mean —Goyle’s potion looked like bogies."  
Hazel began laughing so hard she fell off the kitchen counter, and right onto Mundungus."Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please," said Moody. Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia’s gleaming sink. "We’re one short," said Lupin. "Here," said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along to stand between Fred and George instead. "I’ve toldjer, I’d sooner be a protector," said Mundungus. "Shut it," growled Moody. "As I’ve already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It’ll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters’ll want to kill them." Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one. "Altogether, then . . ." Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats: At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s appearing to shoot backward into their skulls. Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him. Fred and George turned to each other and said together, "Wow —we’re identical!"  
"You've always been identical you twits." Said Hazel. Then she looked across the room, seven Harry's stood before her, she felt her heart jump then plummet, she felt sick and looked down at the ground. "I think I might be sick." She mumbled, the smell of polyjuice potion strong in the air. She stumbled through the room and out the back door into the cold night air. She sat down on the step staring at the dark blue sky spattered with stars. "Oh Harry." She murmured. She was worried about him more that he was about her, she just knew it. He was going to be flying through the air on a motorcycle. Someone was bound to see him. She put her head in her hands, she began to cry out of fear. Suddenly the back door slid open. "You all right Hazel?" Asked a voice. She looked up and saw Tonks looking down at her. "No. Of course not!" She exclaimed. "I'm worried to death! I'm going to be waiting at aunt Andromeda's, waiting for Harry. And you know what my job requires! You know how serious it is! If Harry isn't back in time I have to go out and find him. And I can't help but think what it will be like, waiting at your parents house, anticipating wether or not Harry is still alive! And then having him not come home in time, and me having to go out looking for him. And what if I don't find him!? I will have to assume he is dead!" Hazel flung herself around Tonks. Tonks hugged her and patted her back. "It will ok, he will be ok. You just need to stay calm. He will come home to you safe." Said Tonks. (Hazel was incredibly close to her cousin) "Thanks Tonks." Said Hazel. "Anytime." Suddenly the back door opened again and twelve people trooped out.  
"Miss Hatter!" Growled Moody's voice. Hazel faced him. "It's time for you to go." Said Moody. "I know. I will." Said Hazel. "Go? Go where?" Asked Harry. "To Tonks parents house." Said Hazel. "If you have to go there why did you even come here?" Asked Harry. "I needed to check you where ok." Said Hazel. "I am. I really am. Just you be safe." Replied Harry. "I know." She answered. Then she pulled out her wand and waved it and thought the words "The house of Andromeda Tonks." Then suddenly she felt a twist in her throat and then she opened her eyes. She was standing in the middle of a living room. She took a step and ran into a small table, a glass of water fell of and hit the floor, shattering. "WHO'S THERE!?" Yelled a loud female voice. "Aunt Andromeda!" Yelled Hazel. Andromeda Tonks turned the corner with her wand pointing at Hazel. "Oh my God." Sighed Andromeda, and she rushed to hug Hazel. "Your alive." Mumbled Hazel. "Of course. We have enchantment charms on the house." Replied Andromeda. Hazel let go of her. "Where is uncle Ted?" Asked Hazel. "He is watching the sky outside." Said Andromeda. "Oh, you are beautiful as ever!" Cried Andromeda. "Is that my niece I hear?" Called a voice. "Hi uncle Ted!" Cried Hazel, as he entered the room. She gave him a hug.. They all sat down to catch up quickly, Andromeda set down a kettle of tea and three mugs. "How are you?" He asked. "Good." She said, her eyes darting to the floor. "Truly." Said Ted. "Not ok." Said Hazel looking at her family. "I know. I'm sorry." Said Andromeda. "It's hard getting tied up in things like this. It really is, but we all bear through it. And it will turn out alright. I promise darling." Hazel felt her eyes begin to burn. "Oh... it's just so hard. Because I have to stay strong. I can't let things get to me. I mean, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Tonks, and the others are out there risking their lives. And I'm sitting here, catching up and Having a cup of tea! I can't even join the mission! I was barely allowed to come here! I am so important to Harry apparently, and Voldemort knows it, that he could capture me, and Harry would give himself up! And he can't to that, he just CAN'T!" Hazel finished in a loud voice, standing up and slamming her cup down he tea sloshed about. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Said Hazel, picking up a cloth and wiping up the tea, then taking her seat again. "Its ok. I understand." Said Andromeda. "I'm too much like Bellatrix..." Said Hazel. "No. Not at all." Hazel smiled kindly but then she remembered when Harry found out Bellatrix was her aunt....  
"Oh, no! Here comes my niece!" Growled Bellatrix. "Too much like me, that one!" Harry looked over at Hazel who's wild hair matched Bellatrix's perfectly, she was gripping wand and pointing it at Bellatrix. "You are no family of mine!" Yelled Hazel, firing curses at Bellatrix. And then Neville turned and looked at Hazel, the world slowed down, his eyes widened, and his face went white. "Y-you're her niece?" He mouthed wordlessly. Then she looked at Harry who was staring at her, his mouth went into a grimace then he nodded. She looked around at her friends, they all looked shocked. She then stared at Bellatrix. "You have given the Black's a worse name than ever!" She yelled, then she fired a killing curse at Bellatrix that went flying past her head. Bellatrix gasped then smiled evily...  
She had just got word of Bellatrix that September, and her mother explained that she was her aunt, and her mothers sister. She begged her to be careful. Hazel didn't tell anyone. She couldn't.  
She remembered how bad she felt when her friends realized she wasn't a muggle born, that there was magic in her blood, it was just put on hold. She felt horrible for lying to them. (Though Draco Malfoy still called her a mudblood, although he knew that she wasn't muggle born, he just considered her to be because her mum was a squib.) It took Neville a long time to look her in the eye again. That's what hurt her the most. Neville trusted her, they where friends, and she threw that away by lying. It took him two years to talk to her because she looked so much like Bellatrix, and they finally became good friends and she ruined it. 

Hazel's thoughts where interrupted by a crashing noise. Andromeda ran out side, Ted ran after her and yelled "Who’s there? Is it Potter? Are you Harry Potter?""They’ve crashed, Ted! Crashed in the garden!" Hazel jumped up and ran outside, past her aunt and uncle, through the lawn, and into the garden. "Harry! HAGRID! HARRY!" She yelled. There was no response as she reached Harry and she got on her knees and held him close. He was soaking wet, she sobbed with fear and relief. "Your ok. Your ok, I have you now." She whispered. "Voldemort." He murmured quietly. Hazel gasped and held onto him tightly. "Voldemort isn't here." She replied. There was no answer. "Hazel you need to back up, I need to get them inside." Said Ted. "Be careful with them!" Said Hazel. Andromeda took one side of Hagrid and Ted took the other, the hauled him phisicly and with magic. Hazel put Harry's arm around her and stood up, she put her arm around him and began to half carry him, half drag him. When they got inside Hazel put Him down on a sofa and sat by his feet while Andromeda and Ted took care of Hagrid. Hazel began to hum an erie tune and she thought about her mother, father, and 6 year old sister, she didn't know if she would see them again. Ted came and sat on a chair. Almost half an house passed until Harry's eyes snapped open, and when they did Hazel's jumped and stared at him.  
"Hagrid?" asked Harry, looking everywhere but at his feet where Hazel sat. "Hagrid’s fine, son," said the man, "the wife’s seeing to him now. How are you feeling? Anything else broken? I’ve fixed your ribs, your tooth, and your arm. I’m Ted, by the way, Ted Tonks —Dora’s father." Harry sat up, he looked dizzy and his eyes went out of focus. Hazel wanted to help him, but she knew if he realized she was in the room he wouldn't talk, he was too worried about scaring her. "Voldemort —"  
"Easy, now," said Ted Tonks, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pushing him back against the cushions. "That was a nasty crash you just had. What happened, anyway? Something go wrong with the bike? Arthur Weasley overstretch himself again, him and his Muggle contraptions?"  
"No," said Harry, "Death Eaters, loads of them —we were chased —"  
"Death Eaters?" said Ted sharply. "What d’you mean, Death Eaters? I thought they didn’t know you were being moved tonight, I thought —"  
"They knew," said Harry. Ted Tonks looked up at the ceiling as though he could see through it to the sky above. "Well, we know our protective charms hold, then, don’t we? They shouldn’t be able to get within a hundred yards of the place in any direction." Harry began to move, He had barely stood up, however, when a door opened and Hagrid squeezed through it, his face covered in mud and blood, limping a little but miraculously alive. "Harry!" Knocking over two delicate tables and an aspidistra, he covered the floor between them in two strides and pulled Harry into a hug that nearly cracked his newly repaired ribs. "Blimey, Harry, how did yeh get out o’that? I thought we were both goners."  
"Yeah, me too. I can’t believe —" Harry broke off. He had just noticed that Andromeda had entered the room behind Hagrid. "You!" he shouted, and he thrust his hand into his pocket. "Harry no!" Yelled Hazel, talking for the first time since he was conscious. "Your wand’s here, son," said Ted, tapping it on Harry’s arm. "It fell right beside you, I picked it up. And that’s my wife you’re shouting at."  
"Oh, I’m —I’m sorry." he said. Then he turned and saw Hazel. "Have you been there the whole time?" He asked. "Yes." She replied. "How much did you hear?" He asked again. "All of it." She answered. "You weren't supposed to hear any of it..." he said, rubbing his scar. "Well I did." She said, moving his feet to the floor and sitting closer to him. "What happened to our daughter?"Andromeda suddenly asked. "Hagrid said you were ambushed; where is Nymphadora?"  
"I don’t know," said Harry. "We don’t know what happened to anyone else." She, Hazel, and Ted exchanged looks.  
"The Portkey," he said, remembering all of a sudden. "We’ve got to get back to the Burrow and find out —then we’ll be able to send you word, or —or Tonks will, once she’s —"  
"Dora’ll be okay, ’Dromeda," said Ted. "She knows her stuff, she’s been in plenty of tight spots with the Aurors. The Portkey’s through here," he added to Harry. "It’s supposed to leave in three minutes, if you want to take it."  
"Yeah, we do," said Harry. He seized his rucksack, swung it onto his shoulders. "I —" He looked at Mrs. Tonks, wanting to apologize for the state of fear in which he left her and for which he felt so terribly responsible, but no words occurred to him that did not seem hollow and insincere. "I’ll tell Tonks —Dora —to send word, when she . . . Thanks for patching us up, thanks for everything. I —" He was glad to leave the room and follow Hazel and Ted Tonks along a short hallway and into a bedroom. Hagrid came after them, bending low to avoid hitting his head on the door lintel. "There you go, son. That’s the Portkey." yyMr. Tonks was pointing to a small, silver-backed hairbrush lying on the dressing table. "Thanks," said Harry, reaching out to place a finger on it, ready to leave. "Wait a moment," said Hagrid, looking around. "Harry, where’s Hedwig?"  
"She . . . she got hit," said Harry. "No." Whispered Hazel in fear. Hazel saw Harry's eyes begin to turn red, she flung her arms around his neck. "Its ok. It's ok. It's ok. She loves you." Said Hazel. Harry held her close. "Never mind," Hagrid said gruffly. "Never mind. She had a great old life —""Hagrid!" said Ted Tonks warningly, as the hairbrush glowed bright blue, and Hagrid only just got his forefinger to it in time, Hazel took hold of Harry's hand, still holding him close, and they took hold of the portkey. Hazel felt a knot in her throat and a tug in her chest, she whirled about with Hagrid and Harry, one second they where in nothingness the next they where standing outside of a big crooked house. Mrs. Weasley came bustling out of the house followed by Ginny.  
"Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?" cried Mrs. Weasley. "What d’you mean? Isn’t anyone else back?" Harry panted. The answer was clearly etched in Mrs. Weasley’s pale face. Ginny looked at Hazel, her eyes wide and fearful, Hazel smiled weakly and hugged Ginny, who hugged her back just as tight, shaking. "The Death Eaters were waiting for us,"Harry told her. "We were surrounded the moment we took off —they knew it was tonight —I don’t know what happened to anyone else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us —"  
"Thank goodness you’re all right," she said, pulling him into a hug. Then she hugged Hazel, tightly. "Haven’t go’any brandy, have yeh, Molly?" asked Hagrid a little shakily. "Fer medicinal purposes?" She could have summoned it by magic, but as she hurried back toward the crooked house, Harry knew that she wanted to hide her face. Hazel turned to Ginny and she answered her unspoken plea for information at once. "Ron and Tonks should have been back first, but they missed their Portkey, it came back without them,"she said, pointing at a rusty oil can lying on the ground nearby. "And that one,"she pointed at an ancient sneaker, "should have been Dad and Fred’s, they were supposed to be second. You and Hagrid were third and,"she checked her watch, "if they made it, George and Lupin ought to be back in about a minute."Mrs. Weasley reappeared carrying a bottle of brandy, which she handed to Hagrid. He uncorked it and drank it straight down in one. "Mum!"shouted Ginny, pointing to a spot several feet away. A blue light had appeared in the darkness: It grew larger and brighter, and Lupin and George appeared, spinning and then falling. Harry knew immediately that there was something wrong: Lupin was supporting George, who was unconscious and whose face was covered in blood. Harry ran forward and seized George’s legs. Hazel screamed and ran after him. "George, oh George please no!" She cried. Together, Harry and Lupin carried George into the house and through the kitchen to the sitting room, where they laid him on the sofa. As the lamplight fell across George’s head, Ginny gasped and Hazel's stomach lurched: One of George’s ears was missing. The side of his head and neck were drenched in wet, shockingly scarlet blood. No sooner had Mrs. Weasley bent over her son than Lupin grabbed Harry by the upper arm and dragged him, none too gently, back into the kitchen, where Hagrid was still attempting to ease his bulk through the back door. Hazel yelled, and ran after Lupin, trying to pull him off of Harry. "Oi!" said Hagrid indignantly. "Le’go of him! Le’go of Harry!" Lupin ignored him. "LUPIN!! GET OFF!" Screamed Hazel."What creature sat in the corner the first time that Harry Potter visited my office at Hogwarts?" he said, giving Harry a small shake. "Answer me!"  
"A —a grindylow in a tank, wasn’t it?"Lupin released Harry and fell back against a kitchen cupboard. He then turned to Hazel, he pushed her against a wall, and pointed his wand at her. "Who are the creators of the Marauders map?" Asked Lupin. "What!?" Cried Hazel, as Harry gripped Lupin's shoulders and tried to pull him away. "Who are they!?" He yelled. "MOONY, PADFOOT, PRONGS, AND WORMTAIL!" Hazel yelled back, shoving him backwards with all her might. Harry helped keep Hazel steady. "Wha’ was tha’ about?"roared Hagrid. "I’m sorry, Harry, Hazel, but I had to check," said Lupin tersely. "If you had hurt her Lupin..." mumbled Harry. Hazel was brooding with anger now. "We’ve been betrayed. Voldemort knew that you were being moved tonight and the only people who could have told him were directly involved in the plan. You might have been an impostor."  
"So why aren’you checkin’ me?" panted Hagrid, still struggling to fit through the door. "You’re half-giant," said Lupin, looking up at Hagrid. "The Polyjuice Potion is designed for human use only."  
"None of the Order would have told Voldemort we were moving tonight," said Harry. The idea was dreadful to him, he could not believe it of any of them. "Voldemort only caught up with me toward the end, he didn’t know which one I was in the beginning. If he’d been in on the plan he’d have known from the start I was the one with Hagrid."  
"Voldemort caught up with you?" said Lupin sharply. "What happened? How did you escape?"Harry explained briefly how the Death Eaters pursuing them had seemed to recognize him as the true Harry, how they had abandoned the chase, how they must have summoned Voldemort, who had appeared just before he and Hagrid had reached the sanctuary of Tonks’s parents. "They recognized you? But how? What had you done?"  
"I . . ." Harry tried to remember; the whole journey seemed like a blur of panic and confusion. "I saw Stan Shunpike. . . . You know, the bloke who was the conductor on the Knight Bus? And I tried to Disarm him instead of —well, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, does he? He must be Imperiused!" Lupin looked aghast. "Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren’t prepared to kill!"  
"We were hundreds of feet up! Stan’s not himself, and if I Stunned him and he’d fallen, he’d have died the same as if I’d used Avada Kedavra! Expelliarmus saved me from Voldemort two years ago," Harry added defiantly. Lupin was reminding him of the sneering Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith, who had jeered at Harry for wanting to teach Dumbledore’s Army how to Disarm. "Yes, Harry," said Lupin with painful restraint, "and a great number of Death Eaters witnessed that happening! Forgive me, but it was a very unusual move then, under imminent threat of death. Repeating it tonight in front of Death Eaters who either witnessed or heard about the first occasion was close to suicidal!"  
"So you think I should have killed Stan Shunpike?" said Harry angrily. "Of course not," said Lupin, "but the Death Eaters —frankly, most people! —would have expected you to attack back! Expelliarmus is a useful spell, Harry, but the Death Eaters seem to think it is your signature move, and I urge you not to let it become so!" Hazel turned to Lupin. "Harry is many things, but I won't let him become a murderer. Rest assured Lupin." Said Hazel. "Would you rather him be killed!? That's what it has come to! So if you care about him-." Hazel cut him off. "DON'T YOU EVER QUESTION MY CARE FOR HARRY, OR ANY OF MY FRIENDS! I DON'T CARE IF YOU ARE TONK'S HUSBAND!" Roared Hazel. Lupin stared at Hazel, looking angry and slightly scared. "I won’t blast people out of my way just because they’re there," said Harry. "That’s Voldemort’s job." Lupin’s retort was lost: Finally succeeding in squeezing through the door, Hagrid staggered to a chair and sat down; it collapsed beneath him. Ignoring his mingled oaths and apologies, Harry addressed Lupin again. "Will George be okay?"  
All Lupin’s frustration with Harry seemed to drain away at the question. “I think so, although there’s no chance of replacing his ear, not when it’s been cursed off —”There was a scuffling from outside. Lupin dived for the back door; Hazel, and Harry leapt over Hagrid’s legs and sprinted into the yard. Two figures had appeared in the yard, and as Harry ran toward them he realized they were Hermione, now returning to her normal appearance, and Kingsley, both clutching a bent coat hanger. Hermione flung herself into Harry’s arms and Hazel hugged them both, but Kingsley showed no pleasure at the sight of any of them. Over Hermione’s shoulder Harry saw him raise his wand and point it at Lupin’s chest. “The last words Albus Dumbledore spoke to the pair of us?”  
“‘Harry is the best hope we have. Trust him,’”said Lupin calmly. Kingsley turned his wand on Harry, but Lupin said, “It’s him, I’ve checked!”  
“All right, all right! And Hazel?”said Kingsley, stowing his wand back beneath his cloak. Lupin nodded. “But somebody betrayed us! They knew, they knew it was tonight!”  
“So it seems,” replied Lupin, “but apparently they did not realize that there would be seven Harrys.”  
“Small comfort!” snarled Kingsley. “Who else is back?”“Only Harry, Hagrid, George, and me.”Hermione stifled a little moan behind her hand. “What happened to you?” Lupin asked Kingsley. “Followed by five, injured two, might’ve killed one,” Kingsley reeled off, “and we saw You-Know-Who as well, he joined the chase halfway through but vanished pretty quickly. Remus, he can —”  
“Fly,” supplied Harry. “I saw him too, he came after Hagrid and me.”  
“So that’s why he left, to follow you!” said Kingsley. “I couldn’t understand why he’d vanished. But what made him change targets?”  
“Harry behaved a little too kindly to Stan Shunpike,”said Lupin. “Stan?” repeated Hermione. “But I thought he was in Azkaban?”Kingsley let out a mirthless laugh. “Hermione, there’s obviously been a mass breakout which the Ministry has hushed up. Travers’s hood fell off when I cursed him, he’s supposed to be inside too. But what happened to you, Remus? Where’s George?”  
“He lost an ear,”said Lupin. “Lost an —?”repeated Hermione in a high voice. “Snape’s work,”said Lupin. “Snape?” shouted Harry. "SNAPE?!" Cried Hazel, boiling with anger. “You didn’t say —”  
“He lost his hood during the chase. Sectumsempra was always a speciality of Snape’s. I wish I could say I’d paid him back in kind, but it was all I could do to keep George on the broom after he was injured, he was losing so much blood.”Silence fell between the four of them as they looked up at the sky. There was no sign of movement; the stars stared back, unblinking, indifferent, unobscured by flying friends. Where was Ron? Where were Fred and Mr. Weasley? Where were Bill, Fleur, Tonks, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus? “Harry, give us a hand!”called Hagrid hoarsely from the door, in which he was stuck again. Glad of something to do, Harry pulled him free, then headed through the empty kitchen and back into the sitting room, where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were still tending to George. Mrs. Weasley had staunched his bleeding now, and by the lamplight Harry saw a clean, gaping hole where George’s ear had been. “How is he?”Mrs. Weasley looked around and said, “I can’t make it grow back, not when it’s been removed by Dark Magic. But it could have been so much worse. . . . He’s alive.”  
“Yeah,”said Harry. “Thank God.”  
“Did I hear someone else in the yard?” Ginny asked. “Hermione and Kingsley,”said Harry. “Thank goodness,”Ginny whispered. “I’ll prove who I am, Kingsley, after I’ve seen my son, now back off if you know what’s good for you!”Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley shout like that before. He burst into the living room, his bald patch gleaming with sweat, his spectacles askew, Fred right behind him, both pale but uninjured. “Arthur!”sobbed Mrs. Weasley. “Oh thank goodness!”  
“How is he?”  
“How do you feel, Georgie?”whispered Mrs. Weasley. George’s fingers groped for the side of his head. “Saintlike,”he murmured. “What’s wrong with him?”croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?”“Saintlike,”repeated George, opening his eyes and looking up at his brother. “You see . . . I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?” Mrs. Weasley sobbed harder than ever. Color flooded Fred’s pale face. “Pathetic,”he told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?”“Ah well,”said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.” He looked around. “Hi, Harry —you are Harry, right?”“Yeah, I am,”said Harry, moving closer to the sofa. “Well, at least we got you back okay,”said George. “Why aren’t Ron and Bill huddled round my sickbed?”  
“They’re not back yet, George,”said Mrs. Weasley. George’s grin faded. Harry and Hermione sat in the corner talking, and Ginny was comforting her mum. Hazel felt tears streaming down her face as she looked at George, a giant bloody hole where his ear should have been, she collapsed by George, setting her head on the couch cushion. "Shh. It's ok sis." He said faintly, holding her hand. Hazel started to cry harder. George and Fred, and Ron where like their brothers, really and truly. And if something more had happened... Haze gasped for breath. Fred sat down by them. Mrs. Weasley looked at them, and she sobbed harder. People quieted down and listened. Hazel squeezed George's hand and then followed Hermione, Harry, and Ginny outside to listen for the others. The slightest breath of wind made them all jump and turn toward the whispering bush or tree in the hope that one of the missing Order members might leap unscathed from its leaves —And then a broom materialized directly above them and streaked toward the ground —“It’s them!”screamed Hermione. Lupin who was standing on the step came running. Tonks landed in a long skid that sent earth and pebbles everywhere. “Remus!”Tonks cried as she staggered off the broom into Lupin’s arms. His face was set and white: He seemed unable to speak. Ron tripped dazedly toward Harry, Hazel, and Hermione. “You’re okay,”he mumbled, before Hermione flew at him and hugged him tightly. “I thought —I thought —”“’M all right,” said Ron, patting her on the back. “’M fine.”  
'"Dont ever do thay again! You scared Hermione to death!" She cried. "Im ok. It's ok!" He said. "Never again! Don't ever leave us!" Said Hazel. “Ron was great,” said Tonks warmly, relinquishing her hold on Lupin. “Wonderful. Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you’re aiming at a moving target from a flying broom —”  
“You did?”said Hermione, gazing up at Ron with her arms still around his neck. “Always the tone of surprise,” he said a little grumpily, breaking free. “Are we the last back?”  
“No,”said Ginny, “we’re still waiting for Bill and Fleur and Mad-Eye and Mundungus. I’m going to tell Mum and Dad you’re okay, Ron —” She ran back inside. “So what kept you? What happened?”Lupin sounded almost angry at Tonks. “Bellatrix,”said Tonks. “She wants me quite as much as she wants Harry, Remus, she tried very hard to kill me. I just wish I’d got her, I owe Bellatrix. But we definitely injured Rodolphus. . . . Then we got to Ron’s Auntie Muriel’s and we’d missed our Portkey and she was fussing over us —”A muscle was jumping in Lupin’s jaw. He nodded, but seemed unable to say anything else. "If I had been there! Oh, Bellatrix would be dead!" Yelled Hazel, angrily. "We could have used the help." Said Tonks. “So what happened to you lot?” Tonks asked, turning to Harry, Hermione, and Kingsley. They recounted the stories of their own journeys, but all the time the continued absence of Bill, Fleur, Mad-Eye, and Mundungus seemed to lie upon them like a frost, its icy bite harder and harder to ignore. “I’m going to have to get back to Downing Street, I should have been there an hour ago,”said Kingsley finally, after a last sweeping gaze at the sky. “Let me know when they’re back.” Lupin nodded. With a wave to the others, Kingsley walked away into the darkness toward the gate. Harry thought he heard the faintest pop as Kingsley Disapparated just beyond the Burrow’s boundaries. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came racing down the back steps, Ginny behind them. Both parents hugged Ron before turning to Lupin and Tonks. “Thank you,”said Mrs. Weasley, “for our sons.”  
“Don’t be silly, Molly,”said Tonks at once. “How’s George?” asked Lupin. “What’s wrong with him?” piped up Ron. “He’s lost —”But the end of Mrs. Weasley’s sentence was drowned in a general outcry: A thestral had just soared into sight and landed a few feet from them. Bill and Fleur slid from its back, windswept but unhurt. “Bill! Thank God, thank God —”Mrs. Weasley ran forward, but the hug Bill bestowed upon her was perfunctory. Looking directly at his father, he said, “Mad-Eye’s dead.”Nobody spoke, nobody moved. Harry felt as though something inside him was falling, falling through the earth, leaving him forever. “We saw it,”said Bill; Fleur nodded, tear tracks glittering on her cheeks in the light from the kitchen window. “It happened just after we broke out of the circle: Mad-Eye and Dung were close by us, they were heading north too. Voldemort —he can fly —went straight for them. Dung panicked, I heard him cry out, Mad-Eye tried to stop him, but he Disapparated. Voldemort’s curse hit Mad-Eye full in the face, he fell backward off his broom and —there was nothing we could do, nothing, we had half a dozen of them on our own tail —”Bill’s voice broke. “Of course you couldn’t have done anything,”said Lupin. They all stood looking at each other. Hazel could not quite comprehend it. Mad-Eye dead; it could not be. . . . Mad-Eye, so tough, so brave, the consummate survivor . . . At last it seemed to dawn on everyone, though nobody said it, that there was no point waiting in the yard anymore, and in silence they followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley back into the Burrow, and into the living room, where Fred and George were laughing together. “What’s wrong?”said Fred, scanning their faces as they entered. “What’s happened? Who’s —?”  
“Mad-Eye,” said Mr. Weasley. “Dead.” The twins’grins turned to grimaces of shock. Nobody seemed to know what to do. Tonks was crying silently into a handkerchief: She had been close to Mad-Eye, Hazel knew, his favorite and his protégée at the Ministry of Magic. Hagrid, who had sat down on the floor in the corner where he had most space, was dabbing at his eyes with his tablecloth-sized handkerchief. Bill walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a bottle of firewhisky and some glasses. “Here,” he said, and with a wave of his wand he sent thirteen full glasses soaring through the room to each of them, holding the thirteenth aloft. “Mad-Eye.”  
“Mad-Eye,” they all said, and drank. “Mad-Eye,” echoed Hagrid, a little late, with a hiccup. The firewhisky seared Hazel’s throat. She silently laughed, it made her fell warm though. “So Mundungus disappeared?”said Lupin, who had drained his own glass in one. The atmosphere changed at once. Everybody looked tense, watching Lupin, both wanting him to go on, it seemed to Harry, and slightly afraid of what they might hear. “I know what you’re thinking,” said Bill, “and I wondered that too, on the way back here, because they seemed to be expecting us, didn’t they? But Mundungus can’t have betrayed us. They didn’t know there would be seven Harrys, that confused them the moment we appeared, and in case you’ve forgotten, it was Mundungus who suggested that little bit of skullduggery. Why wouldn’t he have told them the essential point? I think Dung panicked, it’s as simple as that. He didn’t want to come in the first place, but Mad-Eye made him, and You-Know-Who went straight for them. It was enough to make anyone panic.”  
“You-Know-Who acted exactly as Mad-Eye expected him to,” sniffed Tonks. Hazel walked over to her cousin and put her arm around her, Tonks turned and hugged her, crying again. She pulled herself together a moment later and said “Mad-Eye said he’d expect the real Harry to be with the toughest, most skilled Aurors. He chased Mad-Eye first, and when Mundungus gave them away he switched to Kingsley. . . .”  
“Yes, and zat eez all very good,” snapped Fleur, “but still eet does not explain ’ow zey knew we were moving ’Arry tonight, does eet? Somebody must ’ave been careless. Somebody let slip ze date to an outsider. It is ze only explanation for zem knowing ze date but not ze ’ole plan.” She glared around at them all, tear tracks still etched on her beautiful face, silently daring any of them to contradict her. Nobody did. The only sound to break the silence was that of Hagrid hiccuping from behind his handkerchief. “No,” Harry said aloud, and they all looked at him, surprised: The firewhisky seemed to have amplified his voice. “I mean . . . if somebody made a mistake,” Harry went on, “and let something slip, I know they didn’t mean to do it. It’s not their fault,” he repeated, again a little louder than he would usually have spoken. “We’ve got to trust each other. I trust all of you, I don’t think anyone in this room would ever sell me to Voldemort.” More silence followed his words. Hazel suddenly gasped. She understood, it made sense. She looked at Hagrid, then to Harry who realized she figured it out. “Well said, Harry,” said Fred unexpectedly. “Yeah, ’ear, ’ear,”said George, with half a glance at Fred, the corner of whose mouth twitched. Lupin was wearing an odd expression as he looked at Harry. It was close to pitying. “You think I’m a fool?” demanded Harry. “No, I think you’re like James,”said Lupin, “who would have regarded it as the height of dishonor to mistrust his friends.” Hazel knew what Lupin was getting at: that Harry's father had been betrayed by his friend, Peter Pettigrew. Hazel could tell Harry wanted to say something more but Lupin was now addressing Bill, “There’s work to do. I can ask Kingsley whether —”  
“No,”said Bill at once, “I’ll do it, I’ll come.”  
“Where are you going?” said Tonks and Fleur together. “Mad-Eye’s body,”said Lupin. “We need to recover it.”  
“Can’t it —?”began Mrs. Weasley with an appealing look at Bill. “Wait?” said Bill. “Not unless you’d rather the Death Eaters took it?” Nobody spoke. Lupin and Bill said good-bye and left. The rest of them now dropped into chairs, all except for Harry, who remained standing. The suddenness and completeness of death was with them like a presence. “I’ve got to go too,” said Harry. Ten pairs of startled eyes looked at him. “Don’t be silly, Harry,”said Mrs. Weasley. “What are you talking about?”  
“I can’t stay here.”He rubbed his forehead; “You’re all in danger while I’m here. I don’t want —”  
"Harry, please don't." Said Hazel, leaving Tonks side and holding his hand. “But don’t be so silly!”said Mrs. Weasley. “The whole point of tonight was to get you here safely, and thank goodness it worked. And Fleur’s agreed to get married here rather than in France, we’ve arranged everything so that we can all stay together and look after you —”She did not understand; she was making him feel “If Voldemort finds out I’m here —”  
“But why should he?”asked Mrs. Weasley. “There are a dozen places you might be now, Harry,” said Mr. Weasley. “He’s got no way of knowing which safe house you’re in.”  
“It’s not me I’m worried for!”said Harry. “We know that,”said Mr. Weasley quietly, “but it would make our efforts tonight seem rather pointless if you left.”  
“Yer not goin’anywhere,”growled Hagrid. “Blimey, Harry, after all we wen’ through ter get you here?”“Yeah, what about my bleeding ear?”said George, hoisting himself up on his cushions. “I know that —”“Mad-Eye wouldn’t want —”  
“I KNOW!” Harry bellowed. "Harry. I know, I understand.. But please stay... please." Said Hazel. He looked at her, he squeezed her hand, and he nodded slightly. “Where’s Hedwig, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley said coaxingly. “We can put her up with Pigwidgeon and give her something to eat.” Hazel shook her head at Mrs. Weasley, who gasped. “Wait till it gets out yeh did it again, Harry,”said Hagrid. “Escaped him, fought him off when he was right on top of yeh!”  
“It wasn’t me,” said Harry flatly. “It was my wand. My wand acted of its own accord.” "Really?" Asked Hazel. Harry nodded. After a few moments, Hermione said gently, “But that’s impossible, Harry. You mean that you did magic without meaning to; you reacted instinctively.”  
“No,” said Harry. “The bike was falling, I couldn’t have told you where Voldemort was, but my wand spun in my hand and found him and shot a spell at him, and it wasn’t even a spell I recognized. I’ve never made gold flames appear before.”  
“Often,” said Mr. Weasley, “when you’re in a pressured situation you can produce magic you never dreamed of. Small children often find, before they’re trained —”  
“It wasn’t like that,”said Harry through gritted teeth. Muttering about fresh air, he set down his glass and left the room. "I mean no disrespect to anyone, but he is under pressure. Voldemort (Gasps filled the room) is trying to kill him. And it would be amazing if you just believed him!" Exclaimed Hazel, feeling angry again. "Now, I want you to believe him and if you have a problem with with what he is saying take it up with ME!" She growled. She left the room, everyone staring at her, opened mouthed. She walked outside where Harry was standing, she began to talk but then noticed he had gone pale and his eyes wide. "Harry? Harry, are you ok?" She asked, realizing it was Voldemort. "Harry, come back to me." She whispered, as Hermione and Ron joined them. It was several moments before he realized that Ron and Hermione were at his side, but he turned to Hazel and grabbed her hand, she gasped at first but then let it go. “Harry, come back in the house,” Hermione whispered. “You aren’t still thinking of leaving?”  
“Yeah, you’ve got to stay, mate,”said Ron, thumping Harry on the back. “Are you all right?”Hermione asked, close enough now to look into Harry’s face. “You look awful!”  
“Well,”said Harry shakily, “I probably look better than Ollivander. . . .” When he had finished telling them what he had seen, Ron looked appalled, but Hermione downright terrified, Hazel gripped Harry's hand harder and stared at his eyes... She was worried for him. “But it was supposed to have stopped! Your scar —it wasn’t supposed to do this anymore! You mustn’t let that connection open up again —Dumbledore wanted you to close your mind!”When he did not reply, she gripped his arm. “Harry, he’s taking over the Ministry and the newspapers and half the Wizarding world! Don’t let him inside your head too!” Hazel pried Hermione's arm away. "Some times he can't help it." Said Hazel, hugging Harry, who didn't move. 

 

“Well, you can’t do anything about the” —Ron mouthed the word Horcruxes —“till you’re seventeen. You’ve still got the Trace on you. And we can plan here as well as anywhere, can’t we? Or,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “d’you reckon you already know where the You-Know-Whats are?”  
“No,” Harry admitted. “I think Hermione’s been doing a bit of research,” said Ron. “She said she was saving it for when you got here." Harry, Hazel, and Ron were sitting at the breakfast table; Mr. Weasley and Bill had just left for work. Mrs. Weasley had gone upstairs to wake Hermione and Ginny, while Fleur had drifted off to take a bath. “The Trace’ll break on the thirty-first,”said Harry. “That means I only need to stay here four days. Then I can —”  
“Five days,” Ron corrected him firmly. “We’ve got to stay for the wedding. They’ll kill us if we miss it.”  
"Fleur is so wound up about you being there, it's outrageous." Said Hazel. “It’s one extra day,”said Ron, when Harry looked mutinous. “Don’t they realize how important —?”  
“’Course they don’t,”said Ron. “They haven’t got a clue. And now you mention it, I wanted to talk to you about that.” Ron glanced toward the door into the hall to check that Mrs. Weasley was not returning yet, then leaned in closer to Harry. “Mum’s been trying to get it out of Hermione and me. What we’re off to do. She’ll try you two next, so brace yourself. Dad and Lupin’ve both asked as well, but when we said Dumbledore told you not to tell anyone except us, they dropped it. Not Mum, though. She’s determined.”Ron’s prediction came true within hours. "Hazel, dear. Would you mind helping me cut sprouts for dinner?" Asked Mrs. Weasley. "Sure." Said Hazel, Ron gave her a look as he took a bit of an Apple. Hazel picked up a knife and held down a sprout. She began to cut it. "So, what are your plans after the wedding? Because Fleur would love for you to join her, Gabby, and Ginny on a girls day, after the Honeymoon, we where thinking a trip to Bristol, for some shopping, all before school starts of course, then maybe-." Said Mrs Weasley. "I'm not going to be here." Said Hazel. "Oh, I see. Your parents would like you home. I understand." Said Mrs Weasley. "No, I mean I'm going with Harry." Replied Hazel. "Oh! Where will that be?" Asked Mrs Weasley, again. "Out and about." Said Hazel, as a sprout rolled off the cutting board and to the floor. "Oh... And why?" Pressed Mrs Weasley. "For Dumbledore."  
"I see. And why couldn't he have had someone else take this mission, someone from the order? Not some giddy teenagers, someone who isn't barely of age!?" Asked Mrs Weasley, slamming down her knife. "Mrs Weasley, you may not get it, but I'm going to be eighteen in a month, and this was Dumbledore's wish, his last wish. And we are going to honor it, seeing as it's his dying wish." Said Hazel, putting down her knife and walking away, leaving Mrs Weasley opened mouthed. From that moment on, Mrs. Weasley kept Harry, Hazel, Ron, and Hermione so busy with preparations for the wedding that they hardly had any time to think. The kindest explanation of this behavior would have been that Mrs. Weasley wanted to distract them all from thoughts of Mad-Eye and the terrors of their recent journey. After two days of nonstop cutlery cleaning, of color-matching favors, ribbons, and flowers, of de-gnoming the garden and helping Mrs. Weasley cook vast batches of canapés, however, Hazel started to suspect her of a different motive. All the jobs she handed out seemed to keep her, Harry, Hazel, Ron, and Hermione away from one another; she had not had a chance to speak to them of them alone since the first night, when Harry had told them about Voldemort torturing Ollivander. “I think Mum thinks that if she can stop the four of you getting together and planning, she’ll be able to delay you leaving,”Ginny told Harry and Hazel in an undertone, as they laid the table for dinner on the third night of their stay. “And then what does she think’s going to happen?” Harry muttered. “Someone else might kill off Voldemort while she’s holding us here making vol-au-vents?” He had spoken without thinking, and saw Ginny’s face whiten. “So it’s true?” she said. “That’s what you’re trying to do?”  
“I —not —I was joking,” said Harry evasively. "Harry... just tell her." Said Hazel. "Yeah, tell me!" Said Ginny. "We can't..." Said Harry. "Harry, she is our friend." Said Hazel. "No... we can't." He said. None of them talked, they where being secretive and Ginny knew... they all looked down at the table, neither catching the others eye. All of them jumped as the door opened, and Mr. Weasley, Kingsley, and Bill walked in. They were often joined by other Order members for dinner now, because the Burrow had replaced number twelve, Grimmauld Place as the headquarters. Mr. Weasley had explained that after the death of Dumbledore, their Secret-Keeper, each of the people to whom Dumbledore had confided Grimmauld Place’s location had become a Secret-Keeper in turn. “And as there are around twenty of us, that greatly dilutes the power of the Fidelius Charm. Twenty times as many opportunities for the Death Eaters to get the secret out of somebody. We can’t expect it to hold much longer.”  
“But surely Snape will have told the Death Eaters the address by now?” asked Harry. “Well, Mad-Eye set up a couple of curses against Snape in case he turns up there again. We hope they’ll be strong enough both to keep him out and to bind his tongue if he tries to talk about the place, but we can’t be sure. It would have been insane to keep using the place as headquarters now that its protection has become so shaky.” The kitchen was so crowded that evening it was difficult to maneuver knives and forks. “No news about Mad-Eye?” Harry asked Bill. “Nothing,”replied Bill. They had not been able to hold a funeral for Moody, because Bill and Lupin had failed to recover his body. It had been difficult to know where he might have fallen, given the darkness and the confusion of the battle. “The Daily Prophet hasn’t said a word about him dying or about finding the body,” Bill went on. “But that doesn’t mean much. It’s keeping a lot quiet these days.”  
“And they still haven’t called a hearing about all the underage magic I used escaping the Death Eaters?”Harry called across the table to Mr. Weasley, who shook his head. “Because they know I had no choice or because they don’t want me to tell the world Voldemort attacked me?”  
“The latter, I think. Scrimgeour doesn’t want to admit that You-Know-Who is as powerful as he is, nor that Azkaban’s seen a mass breakout.”  
"That's outrageous!" Cried Hazel.  
“Yeah, why tell the public the truth?”said Harry, clenching his knife so tightly that the faint scars on the back of his right hand stood out, white against his skin: I must not tell lies. "Well, if you had been telling the public that Voldemort wasn't back for years, and then suddenly he came back and you had to admit it, then you see more sighting of him, wouldn't you just want to tell the truth over and over again?" Asked Hazel sarcastically. “Isn’t anyone at the Ministry prepared to stand up to him?” asked Ron angrily. “Of course, Ron, but people are terrified,”Mr. Weasley replied, “terrified that they will be next to disappear, their children the next to be attacked! There are nasty rumors going around; I for one don’t believe the Muggle Studies professor at Hogwarts resigned. She hasn’t been seen for weeks now. Meanwhile Scrimgeour remains shut up in his office all day: I just hope he’s working on a plan.”There was a pause in which Mrs. Weasley magicked the empty plates onto the work surface and served apple tart. “We must decide ’ow you will be disguised, ’Arry,” said Fleur, once everyone had pudding. “For ze wedding,” she added, when he looked confused. “Of course, none of our guests are Death Eaters, but we cannot guarantee zat zey will not let something slip after zey ’ave ’ad champagne.” From this, Harry gathered that she still suspected Hagrid. “Yes, good point,”said Mrs. Weasley from the top of the table, where she sat, spectacles perched on the end of her nose, scanning an immense list of jobs that she had scribbled on a very long piece of parchment. “Now, Ron, have you cleaned out your room yet?”  
“Why?”exclaimed Ron, slamming his spoon down and glaring at his mother. “Why does my room have to be cleaned out? Harry and I are fine with it the way it is!”  
“We are holding your brother’s wedding here in a few days’ time, young man —”  
“And are they getting married in my bedroom?” asked Ron furiously. “No! So why in the name of Merlin’s saggy left —"  
“Don’t talk to your mother like that,” said Mr. Weasley firmly. “And do as you’re told.” Ron scowled at both his parents, then picked up his spoon and attacked the last few mouthfuls of his apple tart. “I can help, some of it’s my mess,”Harry told Ron, but Mrs. Weasley cut across him. “No, Harry, Hazel, dear, I’d much rather you helped Arthur muck out the chickens, and Hermione, I’d be ever so grateful if you’d change the sheets for Monsieur and Madame Delacour; you know they’re arriving at eleven tomorrow morning.”But as it turned out, there was very little to do for the chickens. “There’s no need to, er, mention it to Molly,” Mr. Weasley told Harry, and Hazel blocking their access to the coop, “but, er, Ted Tonks sent me most of what was left of Sirius’s bike and, er, I’m hiding —that’s to say, keeping —it in here. Fantastic stuff: There’s an exhaust gaskin, as I believe it’s called, the most magnificent battery, and it’ll be a great opportunity to find out how brakes work. I’m going to try and put it all back together again when Molly’s not —I mean, when I’ve got time.”When they returned to the house, Mrs. Weasley was nowhere to be seen, so Hazel and Harry slipped upstairs to Ron’s attic bedroom. “I’m doing it, I’m doing —! Oh, it’s you,”said Ron in relief, as Harry entered the room. Ron lay back down on the bed, which he had evidently just vacated. The room was just as messy as it had been all week; the only change was that Hermione was now sitting in the far corner, her fluffy ginger cat, Crookshanks, at her feet, sorting books, some of which Harry recognized as his own, into two enormous piles. “Hi, Harry, Hazel," she said, as he sat down on his camp bed. “And how did you manage to get away?”  
“Oh, Ron’s mum forgot that she asked Ginny and me to change the sheets yesterday,” said Hermione. She threw Numerology and Grammatica onto one pile and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts onto the other. Hazel sat down next to Ron. “We were just talking about Mad-Eye,” Ron told Harry. “I reckon he might have survived.”  
“But Bill saw him hit by the Killing Curse,” said Harry. “Yeah, but Bill was under attack too,”said Ron. “How can he be sure what he saw?”  
“Even if the Killing Curse missed, Mad-Eye still fell about a thousand feet,”said Hermione, now weighing Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland in her hand. “He could have used a Shield Charm —”  
“Fleur said his wand was blasted out of his hand,”said Harry. “Well, all right, if you want him to be dead,”.said Ron grumpily, punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape. “Of course we don’t want him to be dead!” said Hermione, looking shocked. “It’s dreadful that he’s dead! But we’re being realistic!”  
"Ron's right Hermione, we can always have hope." Said Hazel.  
"Thank you! But if he is dead, the Death Eaters probably tidied up after themselves, that’s why no one’s found him,” said Ron wisely. “Yeah,”said Harry. “Like Barty Crouch, turned into a bone and buried in Hagrid’s front garden. They probably transfigured Moody and stuffed him —”  
“Don’t!” squealed Hermione. "HARRY!" Screamed Hazel. Startled, Harry looked over just in time to see both of them burst into tears, Hermione over her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary, and Hazel into a pillow. “Oh no,” said Harry, struggling to get up from the old camp bed. “Hermione, I wasn’t trying to upset —”But with a great creaking of rusty bedsprings, Ron bounded off the bed and got there first. Harry hugged Hazel, as she cried into his shoulder. "I'm sorry!" Said Harry. One arm around Hermione, Ron fished in his jeans pocket and withdrew a revolting-looking handkerchief that he had used to clean out the oven earlier. Hastily pulling out his wand, he pointed it at the rag and said, “Tergeo.”The wand siphoned off most of the grease. Looking rather pleased with himself, Ron handed the slightly smoking handkerchief to Hermione. “Oh . . . thanks, Ron. . . . I’m sorry. . . .” She blew her nose and hiccuped. “It’s just so awf-ful, isn’t it? R-right after Dumbledore . . . I j-just n-never imagined Mad-Eye dying, somehow, he seemed so tough!”  
“Yeah, I know,”said Ron, giving her a squeeze. "And I feel terrible for Tonks! He would come over to her house for dinner every once in a while, and Tonks would send for me. Moody and I never got along well, but we all swapped magnificent stories..." Said Hazel, mopping her tears with her sleeve. “I know its terrible, But you know what he’d say to us if he was here?” asked Ron.  
“‘C-constant vigilance,’”said Hermione, mopping her eyes. “That’s right,” said Ron, nodding. “He’d tell us to learn from what happened to him. And what I’ve learned is not to trust that cowardly little squit, Mundungus.”Hermione gave a shaky laugh and leaned forward to pick up two more books. A second later, Ron had snatched his arm back from around her shoulders; she had dropped The Monster Book of Monsters on his foot. The book had broken free from its restraining belt and snapped viciously at Ron’s ankle. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”Hermione cried as Harry jumped off the bed and wrenched the book from Ron’s leg and retied it shut. “What are you doing with all those books anyway?”Ron asked, limping back to his bed. “Just trying to decide which ones to take with us,” said Hermione. “When we’re looking for the Horcruxes.”  
“Oh, of course,”said Ron, clapping a hand to his forehead. “I forgot we’ll be hunting down Voldemort in a mobile library.”  
“Ha ha,”said Hermione, looking down at Spellman’s Syllabary. "Shut up Ron. They could be helpful, and interesting. I'm especially partial to how to decipher runes, edition three." Said Hazel. “Ok, got it, I wonder . . . will we need to translate runes? It’s possible. . . . I think we’d better take it, to be safe.”She dropped the 'How to decipher runes, edition three' onto the larger of the two piles and picked up Hogwarts: A History. “Listen,” said Harry. He had sat up straight. Ron, Hazel and Hermione looked at him with similar mixtures of resignation and defiance. “I know you said after Dumbledore’s funeral that you wanted to come with me,”Harry began. “Here he goes,” Ron said to Hermione, rolling his eyes. "This was so obviously going to happen." Said Hazel.“As we knew he would,” Hermione sighed, turning back to the books. “You know, I think I will take Hogwarts: A History. Even if we’re not going back there, I don’t think I’d feel right if I didn’t have it with —”  
“Listen!”said Harry again. “No, Harry, you listen,” said Hermione. “We’re coming with you. That was decided months ago —years, really.”“But —”  
"I told you, we will follow you, even if you hate us! Your not doing this alone!" Hazel reminded him, fiercely. "But you don't-."  
“Shut up,” Ron advised him. “—are you sure you’ve thought this through?” Harry persisted. “Let’s see,” said Hermione, slamming Travels with Trolls onto the discarded pile with a rather fierce look. “I’ve been packing for days, so we’re ready to leave at a moment’s notice, which for your information has included doing some pretty difficult magic, not to mention smuggling Mad-Eye’s whole stock of Polyjuice Potion right under Ron’s mum’s nose. “I’ve also modified my parents’, memories so that they’re convinced they’re really called Wendell and Monica Wilkins, and that their life’s ambition is to move to Australia, which they have now done. That’s to make it more difficult for Voldemort to track them down and interrogate them about me —or you, because unfortunately, I’ve told them quite a bit about you. Assuming I survive our hunt for the Horcruxes, I’ll find Mum and Dad and lift the enchantment. If I don’t —well, I think I’ve cast a good enough charm to keep them safe and happy. Wendell and Monica Wilkins don’t know that they’ve got a daughter, you see.”Hermione’s eyes were swimming with tears again. Ron got back off the bed, put his arm around her once more, and frowned at Harry as though reproaching him for lack of tact. "And I modified my parents memories too. They think they are Lydia and Chris Howard. And I picked up my baby sister and told her to look at me and to be brave, i told her I loved her repeatedly, then I wiped her mind of me, and of magic, tears streaming down her cheeks. My own sister will forget me. I set their plane tickets to Romania on the glass table, packed their luggage for them and followed them to the air port. I watched them board a plane and leave a thousand miles away, with out so much as a glance to me. They now live there, I told them they are foster parents..." Said Hazel, then she burst into tears again, and pushed Harry away. Harry could not think of anything to say, not least because it was highly unusual for Ron to be teaching anyone else tact. “I —Hermione, Hazel, I’m sorry —I didn’t —”  
“Didn’t realize that Ron, Hazel, and I know perfectly well what might happen if we come with you? Well, we do. Ron, show Harry what you’ve done.”  
“Nah, he’s just eaten,” said Ron. "SHOW HIM!" Yelled Hazel. “Go on, he needs to know!”  
“Oh, all right. Harry, come here.” For the second time Ron withdrew his arm from around Hermione and stumped over to the door. “C’mon.”  
“Why?” Harry asked, following Ron and Hazel out of the room onto the tiny landing. “Descendo,” muttered Ron, pointing his wand at the low ceiling. A hatch opened right over their heads and a ladder slid down to their feet. A horrible, half-sucking, half-moaning sound came out of the square hole, along with an unpleasant smell like open drains. “That’s your ghoul, isn’t it?” asked Harry. “Yeah, it is,” said Ron, climbing the ladder. “Come and have a look at him.”"Go on." Said Hazel, still crying. Harry followed Ron And Hazel up the few short steps into the tiny attic space. His head and shoulders were in the room before he caught sight of the creature curled up a few feet from him, fast asleep in the gloom with its large mouth wide open. “But it . . . it looks . . . do ghouls normally wear pajamas?”  
“No,” said Ron. “Nor have they usually got red hair or that number of pustules.” Harry contemplated the thing, slightly revolted. It was human in shape and size, and was wearing what, now that Harry’s eyes became used to the darkness, was clearly an old pair of Ron’s pajamas. He was also sure that ghouls were generally rather slimy and bald, rather than distinctly hairy and covered in angry purple blisters. “He’s me, see?” said Ron. “No,” said Harry. “I don’t.”  
"Look closer." Hazel pressed on. "I don't see it.".Said Harry. “I’ll explain it back in my room, the smell’s getting to me,” said Ron. They climbed back down the ladder, which Ron returned to the ceiling, and rejoined Hermione, who was still sorting books. “Once we’ve left, the ghoul’s going to come and live down here in my room,” said Ron. “I think he’s really looking forward to it —well, it’s hard to tell, because all he can do is moan and drool —but he nods a lot when you mention it. Anyway, he’s going to be me with spattergroit. Good, eh?” Harry merely looked his confusion. “It is!”said Ron, clearly frustrated that Harry had not grasped the brilliance of the plan. “Look, when we four don’t turn up at Hogwarts again, everyone’s going to think Hazel, Hermione and I must be with you, right? Which means the Death Eaters will go straight for our families to see if they’ve got information on where you are.”  
“But hopefully it’ll look like I’ve gone away with Mum and Dad; a lot of Muggle-borns are talking about going into hiding at the moment,” said Hermione. “We can’t hide my whole family, it’ll look too fishy and they can’t all leave their jobs,”said Ron. “So we’re going to put out the story that I’m seriously ill with spattergroit, which is why I can’t go back to school. If anyone comes calling to investigate, Mum or Dad can show them the ghoul in my bed, covered in pustules. Spattergroit’s really contagious, so they’re not going to want to go near him. It won’t matter that he can’t say anything, either, because apparently you can’t once the fungus has spread to your uvula.”“And your mum and dad are in on this plan?” asked Harry. “Dad is. He helped Fred and George transform the ghoul. Mum . . . well, you’ve seen what she’s like. She won’t accept we’re going till we’ve gone.”There was silence in the room, broken only by gentle thuds as Hermione continued to throw books onto one pile or the other. Hazel sat to help Hermione, and Ron sat watching her, and Harry looked from Hazel, to Ron to Hermione, unable to say anything. Mrs. Weasley shouting from four floors below. “Ginny’s probably left a speck of dust on a poxy napkin ring,”said Ron. “I dunno why the Delacours have got to come two days before the wedding.”“Fleur’s sister’s a bridesmaid, she needs to be here for the rehearsal, and she’s too young to come on her own,”said Hermione, as she pored indecisively over Break with a Banshee. “Well, guests aren’t going to help Mum’s stress levels,”said Ron. “What we really need to decide,”said Hermione, tossing Defensive Magical Theory into the bin without a second glance and picking up An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe, “is where we’re going after we leave here. I know you said you wanted to go to Godric’s Hollow first, Harry, and I understand why, but . . . well . . . shouldn’t we make the Horcruxes our priority?”  
“If we knew where any of the Horcruxes were, I’d agree with you,” said Harry. "  
“Don’t you think there’s a possibility that Voldemort’s keeping a watch on Godric’s Hollow?”Hermione asked. “He might expect you to go back and visit your parents’graves once you’re free to go wherever you like?”  
“This R.A.B. person,” he said. “You know, the one who stole the real locket?” Hermione nodded. “He said in his note he was going to destroy it, didn’t he?”Harry dragged his rucksack toward him and pulled out the fake Horcrux in which R.A.B.’s note was still folded. “‘I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can,’” Harry read out. “Well, what if he did finish it off?” said Ron. “Or she,” interposed Hermione and Hazel, together. “Whichever,” said Ron, “it’d be one less for us to do!”  
“Yes, but we’re still going to have to try and trace the real locket, aren’t we?” said Hermione, “to find out whether or not it’s destroyed.”  
“And once we get hold of it, how do you destroy a Horcrux?”asked Ron. “Well,”.said Hermione, “Hazel and I have been researching that.”  
“How?”asked Harry. “I didn’t think there were any books on Horcruxes in the library?”  
“There weren’t,” said Hermione, who had turned pink. “Dumbledore removed them all, but he—he didn’t destroy them.” Ron sat up straight, wide-eyed. “How in the name of Merlin’s pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?”  
“It —it wasn’t stealing!”said Hermione, looking from Harry to Ron with a kind of desperation. “They were still library books, even if Dumbledore had taken them off the shelves. Anyway, if he really didn’t want anyone to get at them, I’m sure he would have made it much harder to-"  
"And they where so easy to get-." Said Hazel. “Get to the point!” said Ron. “Well . . . it was easy,” said Hermione in a small voice. “We just did a Summoning Charm. You know —Accio. And —they zoomed out of Dumbledore’s study window right into the girls’dormitory.”  
“But when did you do this?”Harry asked, regarding Hermione with a mixture of admiration and incredulity. “Just after his —Dumbledore’s —funeral,”said Hermione in an even smaller voice. “Right after we agreed we’d leave school and go and look for the Horcruxes. When I went back upstairs to get my things it —it just occurred to me that the more we knew about them, the better it would be . . . and I was alone in there . . . so I tried . . . and it worked. They flew straight in through the open window and I —I packed them.”She swallowed and then said imploringly, “I can’t believe Dumbledore would have been angry, it’s not as though we’re going to use the information to make a Horcrux, is it?”  
"Like Hermione said it was easy. I feel like he wanted us to find them." Said Hazel. “Can you hear us complaining?”said Ron. “Where are these books anyway?” Hermione and Hazel rummaged for a moment and then extracted from the pile a large volume, bound in faded black leather. Hermione looked a little nauseated and held it as gingerly as if it were something recently dead. “This is the one that gives explicit instructions on how to make a Horcrux. Secrets of the Darkest Art —it’s a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic. I wonder when Dumbledore removed it from the library. . . . If he didn’t do it until he was headmaster, I bet Voldemort got all the instruction he needed from here.”  
“Why did he have to ask Slughorn how to make a Horcrux, then, if he’d already read that?” asked Ron. “He only approached Slughorn to find out what would happen if you split your soul into seven,”.said Harry. “Dumbledore was sure Riddle already knew how to make a Horcrux by the time he asked Slughorn about them. I think you’re right, Hermione, that could easily have been where he got the information.”  
“And the more I’ve read about them,”said Hazel, “the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six. It warns in this book how unstable you make the rest of your soul by ripping it, and that’s just by making one Horcrux!”  
“Isn’t there any way of putting yourself back together?”Ron asked. “Yes,”said Hermione with a hollow smile, “but it would be excruciatingly painful.”“Why? How do you do it?” asked Harry. “Remorse,”said Hermione. “You’ve got to really feel what you’ve done. There’s a footnote. Apparently the pain of it can destroy you. I can’t see Voldemort attempting it somehow, can you?”  
“No,” said Ron, before Harry could answer. Hazel laughed hotly "Absolutely not!" Said Hazel. “So does it say how to destroy Horcruxes in that book?”  
“Yes,”said Hermione, now turning the fragile pages as if examining rotting entrails, “because it warns Dark wizards how strong they have to make the enchantments on them. From all that I’ve read, what Harry did to Riddle’s diary was one of the few really foolproof ways of destroying a Horcrux.”  
“What, stabbing it with a basilisk fang?” asked Harry. “Oh well, lucky we’ve got such a large supply of basilisk fangs, then,”.said Ron. “I was wondering what we were going to do with them.”  
“It doesn’t have to be a basilisk fang,” said Hermione patiently. “It has to be something so destructive that the Horcrux can’t repair itself. Basilisk venom only has one antidote, and it’s incredibly rare —” Said Hazel. “—phoenix tears,” said Harry, nodding. “Exactly,”said Hermione. “Our problem is that there are very few substances as destructive as basilisk venom, and they’re all dangerous to carry around with you. That’s a problem we’re going to have to solve, though, because ripping, smashing, or crushing a Horcrux won’t do the trick. You’ve got to put it beyond magical repair.” Added Hazel.  
“But even if we wreck the thing it lives in,” said Ron, “why can’t the bit of soul in it just go and live in something else?”  
“Because a Horcrux is the complete opposite of a human being.”Said Hazel. Then Seeing that Harry and Ron looked thoroughly confused, Hermione hurried on, “Look, if I picked up a sword right now, Ron, and ran you through with it, I wouldn’t damage your soul at all.”  
“Which would be a real comfort to me, I’m sure,” said Ron. Harry laughed, Hazel threw a this-is-serious look at them, a look she barely ever used unless this was crucial. “It should be, actually! But my point is that whatever happens to your body, your soul will survive, untouched,” said Hermione. “But it’s the other way round with a Horcrux. The fragment of soul inside it depends on its container, its enchanted body, for survival. It can’t exist without it.”  
“That diary sort of died when I stabbed it,” said Harry, remembering ink pouring like blood from the punctured pages, and the screams of the piece of Voldemort’s soul as it vanished. “And once the diary was properly destroyed, the bit of soul trapped in it could no longer exist. Ginny tried to get rid of the diary before you did, flushing it away, but obviously it came back good as new.” Hazel shuddered at the thought of her friend being controlled. “Hang on,” said Ron, frowning. “The bit of soul in that diary was possessing Ginny, wasn’t it? How does that work, then?”  
“While the magical container is still intact, the bit of soul inside it can flit in and out of someone if they get too close to the object. I don’t mean holding it for too long, it’s nothing to do with touching it,” she added before Ron could speak. “I mean close emotionally. Ginny poured her heart out into that diary, she made herself incredibly vulnerable. You’re in trouble if you get too fond of or dependent on the Horcrux.”  
“I wonder how Dumbledore destroyed the ring?” said Harry. “Why didn’t I ask him? I never really . . .”His voice tailed away. The silence was shattered as the bedroom door flew open with a wall-shaking crash. Hermione shrieked and dropped Secrets of the Darkest Art; Crookshanks streaked under the bed, hissing indignantly; Ron jumped off the bed, skidded on a discarded Chocolate Frog wrapper, and smacked his head on the opposite wall; Hazel held here fists up; and Harry instinctively dived for his wand before realizing that he was looking up at Mrs. Weasley, whose hair was disheveled and whose face was contorted with rage. “I’m so sorry to break up this cozy little gathering,”she said, her voice trembling. “I’m sure you all need your rest . . . but there are wedding presents stacked in my room that need sorting out and I was under the impression that you had agreed to help.”  
“Oh yes,” said Hermione, looking terrified as she leapt to her feet, sending books flying in every direction, “we will . . . we’re sorry . . .”With an anguished look at Harry and Ron, Hermione hurried out of the room after Mrs. Weasley. “It’s like being a house-elf,”complained Ron in an undertone, still massaging his head as he, Hazel, and Harry followed. “Except without the job satisfaction. The sooner this wedding’s over, the happier I’ll be.”  
“Yeah,”said Harry, “then we’ll have nothing to do except find Horcruxes. . . . It’ll be like a holiday, won’t it?” Ron started to laugh, but at the sight of the enormous pile of wedding presents waiting for them in Mrs. Weasley’s room, stopped quite abruptly. The Delacours arrived the following morning at eleven o’clock. Harry, Ron, Hazel, Hermione, and Ginny were feeling quite resentful toward Fleur’s family by this time, and it was with ill grace that Ron stumped back upstairs to put on matching socks, Hazel tried to work a comb through her kinky curls, and Harry attempted to flatten his hair. Once they had all been deemed smart enough, they trooped out into the sunny backyard to await the visitors. Hazel had never seen the place looking so tidy. The rusty cauldrons and old Wellington boots that usually littered the steps by the back door were gone, replaced by two new Flutterby bushes standing either side of the door in large pots; though there was no breeze, the leaves waved lazily, giving an attractive rippling effect. The chickens had been shut away, the yard had been swept, and the nearby garden had been pruned, plucked, and generally spruced up, although Haz, who liked it in its overgrown state, thought that it looked rather forlorn without its usual contingent of capering gnomes. She had lost track of how many security enchantments had been placed upon the Burrow by both the Order and the Ministry; all she knew was that it was no longer possible for anybody to travel by magic directly into the place. Mr. Weasley had therefore gone to meet the Delacours on top of a nearby hill, where they were to arrive by Portkey. The first sound of their approach was an unusually high-pitched laugh, which turned out to be coming from Mr. Weasley, who appeared at the gate moments later, laden with luggage and leading a beautiful blonde woman in long, leaf-green robes, who could only be Fleur’s mother. “Maman!”cried Fleur, rushing forward to embrace her. “Papa!”Monsieur Delacour was nowhere near as attractive as his wife; he was a head shorter and extremely plump, with a little, pointed black beard. However, he looked good-natured. Bouncing toward Mrs. Weasley on high-heeled boots, he kissed her twice on each cheek, leaving her flustered. “You ’ave been to much trouble,” he said in a deep voice. “Fleur tells us you ’ave been working very ’ard.”  
“Oh, it’s been nothing, nothing!” trilled Mrs. Weasley. “No trouble at all!” Ron relieved his feelings by aiming a kick at a gnome who was peering out from behind one of the new Flutterby bushes. “Dear lady!”said Monsieur Delacour, still holding Mrs. Weasley’s hand between his own two plump ones and beaming. “We are most honored at the approaching union of our two families! Let me present my wife, Apolline.”Madame Delacour glided forward and stooped to kiss Mrs. Weasley too. “Enchantée,”she said. “Your ’usband ’as been telling us such amusing stories!”Mr. Weasley gave a maniacal laugh; Mrs. Weasley threw him a look, upon which he became immediately silent and assumed an expression appropriate to the sickbed of a close friend. “And, of course, you ’ave met my leetle daughter, Gabrielle!”said Monsieur Delacour. Gabrielle was Fleur in miniature; eleven years old, with waist-length hair of pure, silvery blonde, she gave Mrs. Weasley a dazzling smile and hugged her, then threw Harry a glowing look, batting her eyelashes. Hazel cleared her throat loudly. “Well, come in, do!”said Mrs. Weasley brightly, and she ushered the Delacours into the house, with many “No, please!”s and “After you!”s and “Not at all!”s. The Delacours, it soon transpired, were helpful, pleasant guests. They were pleased with everything and keen to assist with the preparations for the wedding. Monsieur Delacour pronounced everything from the seating plan to the bridesmaids’shoes “Charmant!” Madame Delacour was most accomplished at household spells and had the oven properly cleaned in a trice; Gabrielle followed her elder sister around, trying to assist in any way she could and jabbering away in rapid French. On the downside, the Burrow was not built to accommodate so many people. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were now sleeping in the sitting room, having shouted down Monsieur and Madame Delacour’s protests and insisted they take their bedroom. Gabrielle was sleeping with Fleur in Percy’s old room, and Bill would be sharing with Charlie, his best man, once Charlie arrived from Romania. Opportunities to make plans together became virtually nonexistent, and it was in desperation that Harry, Hazel, Ron, and Hermione took to volunteering to feed the chickens just to escape the overcrowded house. “But she still won’t leave us alone!”snarled Ron, as their second attempt at a meeting in the yard was foiled by the appearance of Mrs. Weasley carrying a large basket of laundry in her arms. “Oh, good, you’ve fed the chickens,”she called as she approached them. “We’d better shut them away again before the men arrive tomorrow . . . to put up the tent for the wedding,” she explained, pausing to lean against the henhouse. She looked exhausted. “Millamant’s Magic Marquees . . . they’re very good, Bill’s escorting them. . . . You’d better stay inside while they’re here, Harry. I must say it does complicate organizing a wedding, having all these security spells around the place.”  
“I’m sorry,”said Harry humbly. “Oh, don’t be silly, dear!”said Mrs. Weasley at once. “I didn’t mean —well, your safety’s much more important! Actually, I’ve been wanting to ask you how you want to celebrate your birthday, Harry. Seventeen, after all, it’s an important day. . . .”  
“I don’t want a fuss,” said Harry quickly, envisaging the additional strain this would put on them all. “Really, Mrs. Weasley, just a normal dinner would be fine. . . . It’s the day before the wedding. . . .”  
“Oh, well, if you’re sure, dear. I’ll invite Remus and Tonks, shall I? And how about Hagrid?”  
“That’d be great,”said Harry. “But please don’t go to loads of trouble.”  
“Not at all, not at all . . . It’s no trouble. . . .”She looked at him, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away. "Do you think she has finally accepted we are leaving?" Asked Hazel who was standing behind a tree, listening. "No, but it's starting to sink in I think." He said. Then he turned to Hazel, and stared at her. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I have dragged you and Hermione, and Ron into this." He said sincerely. Hazel smiled sadly at him and said. "Shh. Remember on our first date I told you that even if we broke up I would follow you to the ends of the earth, and do anything to protect you?" She asked. "Yeah, right after you jinxed Malfoy and his goons for throwing snow balls at us." Said Harry. "We were so young... we thought the triwizard tournament was our biggest worry." Said Hazel. "Well, thats fifteen year old us." Said Harry. "I remember telling Poppy, my sister, about you. She looked up at me and smiled. I think she is becoming magical as well... a day before I erased their memory-." She stopped and looked at the dirt. "What of I never see them again?" She asked, tears beginning to well up. "You will. I promise." Said Harry. "Now, the closest thing to a mum i have is Mrs Weasley... And I ought to tell her that." Said Hazel. "I will see you in a bit." Said Hazel. Then she quickly hugged Harry and ran in Mrs Weasley's direction. She found her in the kitchen, she ran to her and took the knife from her hand and hugged her. "Wha-?" Asked Mrs Weasley. "I'm sorry. I know we don't see eye to eye on a lot, but your the closest thing I have to a mum right now. And I love you, and appreciate you, and I never say that." Said Hazel, tears brimming over. Mrs Weasley hugged her back. "I don't know what's going on, but I love you too, dear." Said Mrs Weasley. Mrs Weasley picked up a dish towel and flicked her wand, the water rung out and the muck disappeared, she gave it to Hazel to dry her eyes. Hazel took it and began to cry harder. "I'm sorry." Said Hazel. "It's ok darling." Said Mrs Weasley. Suddenly there was a loud grunt and Fleur came bounding down the stairs, followed by her parent's. Hazel and Mrs Weasley exchanged a look. "Whats wrong?" Asked Hazel. "My ozer bridesmaid got ze flu and cant travel!" Exclaimed Fleur. "It will be ok, I can fill een." Said Madame Delacour. Hazel looked up, as Fleur clapped. "Hazel! You can be ze ozer bridesmaid! What size do you wear?" Asked Fleur. Hazel stared at Fleur. "M-me!?" Asked Hazel. "Yes! Of courze! You are family to ze Weazley's, you are practically family to me zen!" She exclaimed. "Now zen, size?" Asked Fleur. "Uh... fourteen..." Said Hazel, slightly dazed. "Hmm... mama can adjust eet." Said Fleur. "Ze color is pale gold." Said Fleur, as she walked out of the room. Hazel just stared after her. "What?" Asked Hazel, confused. "You just became a bridesmaid." Said Mrs Weasley. "I see...I think I'm gonna be sick." Said Hazel, she ran out the back door for fresh air and flung herself down on the steps. Hermione, who was beating the dust out of a rug, put down her broom and walked over to Hazel. "Are you ok Hazel?" Asked Hermione. "Nope. I just became a bridesmaid." Said Hazel. Hermione squealed, "That's wonderful!" Hazel looked up at her, "Is it?" She asked. "Yes, oh yes!" Said Hermione, sitting down by her. "What are the dress colors?" Asked Hermione, excitedly. "Pale gold." Replied Hazel. "That's beautiful!" Said Hermione. "I feel sick..." mumbled Hazel. "No!" Cried Hermione, as Hazel ran around the side of the house and puked on the lawn. "Imprecton." Said Hazel, quietly, the sick disappeared. "Ugh, Hazel." Moaned Hermione. "I'm sorry, dresses and lots of people freak me out, it's a wonder I didn't puke repeatedly at the Yule ball..." Said Hazel, walking back to Hermione. "Ew. Ugh, Hazel go up to the room and clean up." Said Heione, utterly repulsed. Hazel frowned and ran through the kitchen and into her room. This isn't going to go well, she thought.

 

"Harry!" Cried Hazel, as she sat shot up in bed. She looked at Hermione in a bed next to her, and Ginny on the other bed, Hazel on the camp bed. Hazel stood up and opened her enchanted bag, full of clothes. She pulled out a pair of jeans and a light blue t-shirt, she quickly got dressed then pulled her three gifts for Harry out of her bag, he was seventeen after all. She put the bag on around her chest. She hit Hermione with a pillow, and her eyes snapped open, she groped for her wand. "No, shh. Hermione it's just me. It's Harry's birthday. Come one." Said Hazel. Hermione flung her feet off the bed, got dressed and pulled her present out from under her bed. "Next time, just tap me on the shoulder, I could have hexed you." Said Hermione. "Sorry, come on. He should be awake already." Said Hazel. They trampled through the hallway and down the stairs into the kitchen.“Happy birthday, Harry!”said Hermione and Hazel, hurrying into the kitchen and adding Hermione's present to the top of the pile. “It’s not much, but I hope you like it. What did you get him?” she added to Ron, who seemed not to hear her. “Come on, then, open Hermione’s!”said Ron. She had bought him a new Sneakoscope. The other packages contained an enchanted razor from Bill and Fleur (“Ah yes, zis will give you ze smoothest shave you will ever ’ave,”Monsieur Delacour assured him, “but you must tell it clearly what you want . . . ozzerwise you might find you ’ave a leetle less hair zan you would like. . . .”), chocolates from the Delacours, and an enormous box of the latest Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes merchandise from Fred and George (George tricked Hazel into testing the new product they gave Harry, it was supposed to make your tongue taste like cotton candy, but the first prototype made your mouth feel like you were sucking on cotton.). Harry, Hazel Ron, and Hermione did not linger at the table, as the arrival of Madame Delacour, Fleur, and Gabrielle made the kitchen uncomfortably crowded. “I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. “I’m nearly done, I’m just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron —”Ron’s splutter was interrupted Hazel shushing him by handing him a roll she took from the table, he took it grumpily. "Can you go away, Ron? I want to talk with Harry for a few minutes." Said Hazel. "Sure." Said Ron, taking a bite of the roll. He walked away, and Hazel was alone with Harry. She handed Harry a red package. He tore it open and found a knew quidditch Jersey. "I bought this last year at Hogsmead for you. It was going to be for this year, but then this happened..." Said Hazel, looking at the red and gold Jersey. "It's wonderful." Said Harry, bringing her in for a hug. "Not so fast, I have two more." She said. He left go of her and she handed him a green package. He opened it and pulled out a wand cleaning kit. "Perfect, this one is getting a bit wonky, it could use a polish." He said, holding up his wand. She handed him one last package, wrapped in gold. He smiled at her then tore it open. Inside was a picture of James and Lily Potter. He looked down at it. "I found it in a year book... it was super old. And look, here they where our age." She said, pointing to the red haired girl and messy haired boy as they took a sip of Butterbeer and laughed at each others foam mustaches. "T-thanks." He said, looking up at her. "I don't know what to say. Or do now... but that you so much." He said, staring at her. She smiled up at him. Then before she knew what she was doing, she was kissing him as she had never kissed him before, and Harry was kissing her back, and it was blissful oblivion , better than firewhisky, and Hazel felt time stop.  
Then the door banged open behind them and they jumped apart. “Oh,” said Ron pointedly. “Sorry.”  
“Ron!” Hermione was just behind him, slightly out of breath. There was a strained silence, Ron’s ears were scarlet; Hermione looked nervous. Hazel wanted to slam the door in their faces, but now she was back to cruel reality. Hazel stared at them, wanting to shoot fire from her eyes. This is the first time she had ever resented her best friends... it just had been so long since she had Harry alone. "M-mum wanted me to tell you Charlie'll be here in a bit." Said Ron, shaken up. "Wonderful." Mumbled Hazel. "Do you have to snog in my house?" Asked Ron. "If you rather in public then so be it." Growled Hazel. "All right, sheesh." Said Ron. "Ron, get out." Said Hermione, pushing him out of the room. "I'm sorry. We're sorry. My God, we're so sorry." Said Hermione, walking away. Hazel looked back at Harry, but said nothing. "I'm sorry." Said Hazel. "For what?" He asked. "It's not a good time. I just, I feel bad. Maybe... maybe breaking up would be a good idea." She said finally. "What!?" He asked. "Harry, we are looking for pieces of Voldemort's soul. There isn't going to be time for a relationship. I wish there was, but there's not." She said. "I know. I've been thinking the same thing." He said. "So... after four years, this is it?" She asked. "Yeah, I suppose. But promise me this. If we survive this, don't ever leave my side. Whether we are dating or not... don't leave me with out you." He said. "I won't. I never will, I promise." She said. "So... That's it." She said, staring at the ground. "Yep." He replied. "Alright." She said, then she left Harry alone with his gifts, and she walked up to Ginny's room, where Ginny was sitting on her bed, making a bracelet out of beads that change colors. Hazel sat on the bed next to her. "Hi." Said Ginny, smiling, adding a blue bead to her bracelet. "Hi." Hazel said shaking. "Ginny..." Said Hazel. "Yes?" Asked Ginny, looking down at her bracelet. "If I start crying will you help me?" Asked Hazel. Ginny looked up at Hazel, her eyes red and filled with tears. Ginny dropped her bracelet, the beads fell to the floor, she leaned over and hugged Hazel. "What's happened?" Asked Ginny. "H-Harry." She whimpered. "What has the git done, has he hurt you!?" Asked Ginny, her face contorting with anger. "N-no, no. Ginny relax. We mutually b-broke up." Said Hazel, in a thin voice. "Why?" Asked Ginny, squeezing Hazel. "We can't hold a relationship with this adventure. It will be too hard." Said Hazel. Ginny must have decided it wasn't a good idea to ask about the mission, because she just held Hazel close. "I'm sorry. But I'm sure it was for the best, right?" Asked Ginny. "If you kept it going while you where both stressed with the mission you would have torn each others heads off and completely ruined your friendship." Hazel hugged Ginny. "I keep forgetting your not twelve anymore. You've grown into a wise young lady." Said Hazel. "I may be good at giving advice but I stink as relationships." Said Ginny. "Me too..." Mumbled Hazel. "So, I heard your going to be a bridesmaid with me and Gabrielle." Said Ginny. "Yup. I vomited at the thought." Admitted Hazel. "Only you would vomit at the thought if being a bridesmaid!" Cried Ginny. 

 

It was becoming incredibly awkward between Harry and Hazel, they where avoiding each other, although Charlie’s arrival came as a relief to Hazel. It provided a distraction, watching Mrs. Weasley force Charlie into a chair, raise her wand threateningly, and announce that he was about to get a proper haircut. As Harry’s birthday dinner would have stretched the Burrow’s kitchen to breaking point even before the arrival of Charlie, Lupin, Tonks, and Hagrid, several tables were placed end to end in the garden. Fred and George bewitched a number of purple lanterns, all emblazoned with a large number 17, to hang in midair over the guests. Thanks to Mrs. Weasley’s ministrations, George’s wound was neat and clean, but Hazel was not yet used to the dark hole in the side of her beloved 'brothers' head, despite the twins’ many jokes about it. Hermione made purple and gold streamers erupt from the end of her wand and drape themselves artistically over the trees and bushes. “Nice,” said Ron, as with one final flourish of her wand, Hermione turned the leaves on the crabapple tree to gold. “You’ve really got an eye for that sort of thing.”  
“Thank you, Ron!”said Hermione, looking both pleased and a little confused. Hazel gave Hermione a look saying 'See?', Hermione waved the look away but blushed. “Out of the way, out of the way!”sang Mrs. Weasley, coming through the gate with what appeared to be a giant, beach-ball-sized Snitch cake floating in front of her. Mrs. Weasley was suspending it with her wand, rather than risk carrying it over the uneven ground. When the cake had finally landed in the middle of the table, Harry said, “That looks amazing, Mrs. Weasley."  
“Oh, it’s nothing, dear,”she said fondly. Over her shoulder, Ron gave Harry the thumbs-up and mouthed, Good one.  
Hazel decided around 6:45 to go up to the girls room and change into a silvery green dress, and put her hair in a braid and tied it off with a green bow. She ran down the stairs to help Fred and George welcome people. By seven o’clock all the guests had arrived, led into the house by Fred and George, who had waited for them at the end of the lane. Hagrid had honored the occasion by wearing his best, and horrible, hairy brown suit. Although Lupin smiled as he shook Harry’s hand, Hazel thought he looked rather unhappy. It was all very odd; Tonks, beside him, looked simply radiant. “Happy birthday, Harry,”she said, hugging him tightly. “Seventeen, eh!” said Hagrid as he accepted a bucket-sized glass of wine from Fred. “Six years ter the day since we met, Harry, d’yeh remember it?”  
“Vaguely,” said Harry, grinning up at him. “Didn’t you smash down the front door, give Dudley a pig’s tail, and tell me I was a wizard?”  
“I forge’ the details,” Hagrid chortled. “All righ’, Ron, Hermione?”  
“We’re fine,” said Hermione. “How are you?”  
“Ar, not bad. Bin busy, we got some newborn unicorns, I’ll show yeh when yeh get back —”Harry avoided Ron’s, Hazel's, and Hermione’s gazes as Hagrid rummaged in his pocket. “Here, Harry —couldn’ think what ter get yeh, but then I remembered this.”He pulled out a small, slightly furry drawstring pouch with a long string, evidently intended to be worn around the neck. “Mokeskin. Hide anythin’ in there an’no one but the owner can get it out. They’re rare, them.”  
“Hagrid, thanks!”  
“’S’nothin’”said Hagrid with a wave of a dustbin-lid-sized hand. “An’there’s Charlie! Always liked him —hey! Charlie!” Charlie approached, running his hand slightly ruefully over his new, brutally short haircut. He was shorter than Ron, thickset, with a number of burns and scratches up his muscley arms. “Hi, Hagrid, how’s it going?”  
“Bin meanin’ ter write fer ages. How’s Norbert doin’?”“Norbert?”Charlie laughed. “The Norwegian Ridgeback? We call her Norberta now.”  
“Wha —Norbert’s a girl?”  
Hazel couldn't help but laugh and set down her small glass of fire whiskey. “Oh yeah,” said Charlie. “How can you tell?” asked Hermione. “They’re a lot more vicious,” said Charlie. He looked over his shoulder and dropped his voice. “Wish Dad would hurry up and get here. Mum’s getting edgy.” They all looked over at Mrs. Weasley. She was trying to talk to Madame Delacour while glancing repeatedly at the gate. “I think we’d better start without Arthur,”she called to the garden at large after a moment or two. “He must have been held up at —oh!” They all saw it at the same time: a streak of light that came flying across the yard and onto the table, where it resolved itself into a bright silver weasel, which stood on its hind legs and spoke with Mr. Weasley’s voice. “Minister of Magic coming with me.” The Patronus dissolved into thin air, leaving Fleur’s family peering in astonishment at the place where it had vanished. “We shouldn’t be here,”said Lupin at once. “Harry —I’m sorry —I’ll explain another time-."  
He seized Tonks’s wrist and pulled her away; they reached the fence, climbed over it, and vanished from sight. Mrs. Weasley looked bewildered. “The Minister —but why —? I don’t understand —” But there was no time to discuss the matter; a second later, Mr. Weasley had appeared out of thin air at the gate, accompanied by Rufus Scrimgeour, instantly recognizable by his mane of grizzled hair. The two newcomers marched across the yard toward the garden and the lantern-lit table, where everybody sat in silence, watching them draw closer. As Scrimgeour came within range of the lantern light, Harry saw that he looked much older than the last time they had met, scraggy and grim. “Sorry to intrude,” said Scrimgeour, as he limped to a halt before the table. “Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party.” His eyes lingered for a moment on the giant Snitch cake. “Many happy returns.”  
“Thanks,”said Harry. “I require a private word with you,” Scrimgeour went on. “Also with Mr. Ronald Weasley, Miss Hazel Hatter, and Miss Hermione Granger.”  
“Us?”said Ron, sounding surprised. “Why us?”  
“I shall tell you that when we are somewhere more private,” said Scrimgeour. “Is there such a place?” he demanded of Mr. Weasley. “Yes, of course,” said Mr. Weasley, who looked nervous. “The, er, sitting room, why don’t you use that?”  
“You can lead the way,”Scrimgeour said to Ron. “There will be no need for you to accompany us, Arthur.” Harry saw Mr. Weasley exchange a worried look with Mrs. Weasley as he, Ron, and Hermione stood up. As they led the way back to the house in silence, Harry knew that the other two were thinking the same as he was: Scrimgeour must, somehow, have learned that the three of them were planning to drop out of Hogwarts. Scrimgeour did not speak as they all passed through the messy kitchen and into the Burrow’s sitting room. Although the garden had been full of soft golden evening light, it was already dark in here: Harry flicked his wand at the oil lamps as he entered and they illuminated the shabby but cozy room. Scrimgeour sat himself in the sagging armchair that Mr. Weasley normally occupied, leaving Harry, Ron, Hazel, and Hermione to squeeze side by side onto the sofa. Once they had done so, Scrimgeour spoke. “I have some questions for the three of you, and I think it will be best if we do it individually. If you three” —he pointed at Harry, Haz and Hermione —“can wait upstairs, I will start with Ronald.”  
"Think again, sir." Said Hazel.  
“We’re not going anywhere,”said Harry, while Hermione nodded vigorously. “You can speak to us together, or not at all.” Scrimgeour gave Harry a cold, appraising look. Harry had the impression that the Minister was wondering whether it was worthwhile opening hostilities this early. “Very well then, together,” he said, shrugging. He cleared his throat. “I am here, as I’m sure you know, because of Albus Dumbledore’s will.”Harry, Hazel, Ron, and Hermione looked at one another. “A surprise, apparently! You were not aware then that Dumbledore had left you anything?”  
“A-all of us?” said Ron. “Me, Hazel, and Hermione too?”  
“Yes, all of —”But Harry interrupted. “Dumbledore died over a month ago. Why has it taken this long to give us what he left us?”  
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Hermione, before Scrimgeour could answer. “They wanted to examine whatever he’s left us. You had no right to do that!” she said, and her voice trembled slightly. “I had every right,”said Scrimgeour dismissively. “The Decree for Justifiable Confiscation gives the Ministry the power to confiscate the contents of a will —”  
“That law was created to stop wizards passing on Dark artifacts.”said Hermione, “and the Ministry is supposed to have powerful evidence that the deceased’s possessions are illegal before seizing them! Are you telling me that you thought Dumbledore was trying to pass us something cursed?” added Hazel.  
“Are you planning to follow a career in Magical Law, Miss Granger, Miss Hatter?” asked Scrimgeour. Hazel laughed. "No. Not in this life time or the next!" Said Hazel fiercely. “No, and neither am I,” retorted Hermione. “I’m hoping to do some good in the world!” Hazel added. Ron laughed. Scrimgeour’s eyes flickered toward him and away again as Harry spoke. “So why have you decided to let us have our things now? Can’t think of a pretext to keep them?”  
“No, it’ll be because the thirty-one days are up,” said Hermione at once. “They can’t keep the objects longer than that unless they can prove they’re dangerous. Right?” said Hazel. “Would you say you were close to Dumbledore, Ronald?” asked Scrimgeour, ignoring Hermione. Ron looked startled. “Me? Not —not really . . . It was always Harry who . . .” Hazel jabbed him in the stomach with her wand, hard, then Ron looked around at Harry, Hazel and Hermione, to see Hermione giving him a stop-talking-now! sort of look, but the damage was done: Scrimgeour looked as though he had heard exactly what he had expected, and wanted, to hear. He swooped like a bird of prey upon Ron’s answer.“If you were not very close to Dumbledore, how do you account for the fact that he remembered you in his will? He made exceptionally few personal bequests. The vast majority of his possessions —his private library, his magical instruments, and other personal effects —were left to Hogwarts. Why do you think you were singled out?”  
“I . . . dunno,” said Ron. “I . . . when I say we weren’t close . . . I mean, I think he liked me. . . .”“You’re being modest, Ron,”said Hermione. “Dumbledore was very fond of you.”This was stretching the truth to breaking point; as far as Hazel knew, Ron and Dumbledore had never been alone together, and direct contact between them had been negligible. However, Scrimgeour did not seem to be listening. He put his hand inside his cloak and drew out a drawstring pouch much larger than the one Hagrid had given Harry. From it, he removed a scroll of parchment which he unrolled and read aloud. “‘The Last Will and Testament of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore’. . . Yes, here we are . . . ‘To Ronald Bilius Weasley, I leave my Deluminator, in the hope that he will remember me when he uses it.’”Scrimgeour took from the bag an object, It looked something like a silver cigarette lighter. Scrimgeour leaned forward and passed the Deluminator to Ron, who took it and turned it over in his fingers, looking stunned. “That is a valuable object,”said Scrimgeour, watching Ron. “It may even be unique. Certainly it is of Dumbledore’s own design. Why would he have left you an item so rare?” Ron shook his head, looking bewildered. “Dumbledore must have taught thousands of students,”Scrimgeour persevered. “Yet the only ones he remembered in his will are you three. Why is that? To what use did he think you would put his Deluminator, Mr. Weasley?”  
“Put out lights, I s’pose,” mumbled Ron. “What else could I do with it?” Evidently Scrimgeour had no suggestions. After squinting at Ron for a moment or two, he turned back to Dumbledore’s will. “‘To Miss Hermione Jean Granger and Miss Hazel Hatter I leave my copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, in the hope that they will find it entertaining and instructive.’”Scrimgeour now pulled out of the bag a small book that looked as ancient as the copy of Secrets of the Darkest Art upstairs. Its binding was stained and peeling in places. Hermione took it from Scrimgeour without a word, Hazel stared at it. She held the book in her lap and gazed at it. Hazel saw that the title was in runes; Hazel read them quickly, but then a tear splashed onto the embossed symbols. “Why do you think Dumbledore left you that book, Miss Hatter, Miss Granger?” asked Scrimgeour. “He . . . he knew we liked books,”said Hermione in a thick voice, mopping her eyes with her sleeve. "In fact we love them." Said Hazel, letting a tear fall too. “But why that particular book?”  
“I don’t know. He must have thought I’d enjoy it.”“Did you ever discuss codes, or any means of passing secret messages, with Dumbledore?”  
“No, I didn’t,” said Hermione, still wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “And if the Ministry hasn’t found any hidden codes in this book in thirty-one days, I doubt that I will.” She suppressed a sob. They were wedged together so tightly that Ron had difficulty extracting his arm to put it around Hermione’s shoulders. "Continue on. Now." Said Hazel, through clenched teeth as tears fell more rapidly, but no one comforted her. Scrimgeour turned back to the will. “‘To Harry James Potter,’” he read, and Harry’s insides contracted with a sudden excitement, “‘I leave the Snitch he caught in his first Quidditch match at Hogwarts, as a reminder of the rewards of perseverance and skill.’”As Scrimgeour pulled out the tiny, walnut-sized golden ball, its silver wings fluttered rather feebly. “Why did Dumbledore leave you this Snitch?”asked Scrimgeour. “No idea,” said Harry. “For the reasons you just read out, I suppose . . . to remind me what you can get if you . . . persevere and whatever it was.”  
“You think this a mere symbolic keepsake, then?”  
“I suppose so,” said Harry. “What else could it be?”“I’m asking the questions,” said Scrimgeour, shifting his chair a little closer to the sofa. Dusk was really falling outside now; the marquee beyond the windows towered ghostly white over the hedge. “I notice that your birthday cake is in the shape of a Snitch,” Scrimgeour said to Harry. “Why is that?”Hermione laughed derisively. “Oh, it can’t be a reference to the fact Harry’s a great Seeker, that’s way too obvious,” she said. “There must be a secret message from Dumbledore hidden in the icing!” Hazel said.  
“I don’t think there’s anything hidden in the icing,”said Scrimgeour, “but a Snitch would be a very good hiding place for a small object. You know why, I’m sure?” Harry shrugged. Hermione, however, answered; “Because Snitches have flesh memories,”she said. “What?” said Harry and Ron together; both considered Hermione’s Quidditch knowledge negligible. “Correct,” said Scrimgeour. “A Snitch is not touched by bare skin before it is released, not even by the maker, who wears gloves. It carries an enchantment by which it can identify the first human to lay hands upon it, in case of a disputed capture. This Snitch”—he held up the tiny golden ball —“will remember your touch, Potter. It occurs to me that Dumbledore, who had prodigious magical skill, whatever his other faults, might have enchanted this Snitch so that it will open only for you.”  
“You don’t say anything,” said Scrimgeour. “Perhaps you already know what the Snitch contains?”  
“No,”said Harry. “Take it,” said Scrimgeour quietly. He held out his hand, and Scrimgeour leaned forward again and placed the Snitch, slowly and deliberately, into Harry’s palm. Nothing happened. As Harry’s fingers closed around the Snitch, its tired wings fluttered and were still. Scrimgeour, Ron, Hazel, and Hermione continued to gaze avidly at the now partially concealed ball, as if still hoping it might transform in some way. “That was dramatic,” said Harry coolly. Both Ron and Hermione laughed, Hazel sighed and touched the snitch. "To Miss Hazel Hatter, I leave these words, 'Do what you think is right, don't let anyone change your mind'." He read. "Why would he leave you words? Unless he already gave you something... what is it? What has that devil of a man given you!?" Yelled the minister. Hazel stood up. "DON'T YOU DARE DISRESPECT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IN MY PRESENCES!" Roared Hazel. The minister edged back slightly. "You respect him, do you understand!? Albus Dumbledore is more of a man than you EVER will be!" Yelled Hazel, taking her seat again. Ron clapped her on the back and Hermione squeezed her wrist. “That’s all, then, is it?”asked Hermione, making to prise herself off the sofa. “Not quite,”said Scrimgeour, who looked bad-tempered now. “Dumbledore left you a second bequest, Potter.”  
“What is it?”asked Harry, excitement rekindling. Scrimgeour did not bother to read from the will this time. “The sword of Godric Gryffindor,” he said. Hermione, Hazel, and Ron all stiffened. Hazel looked around for a sign of the ruby-encrusted hilt, but Scrimgeour did not pull the sword from the leather pouch, which in any case looked much too small to contain it. “So where is it?” Harry asked suspiciously. “Unfortunately,” said Scrimgeour, “that sword was not Dumbledore’s to give away. The sword of Godric Gryffindor is an important historical artifact, and as such, belongs —”  
“It belongs to Harry!” said Hermione hotly. “It chose him, he was the one who found it, it came to him out of the Sorting Hat —”  
“According to reliable historical sources, the sword may present itself to any worthy Gryffindor,”said Scrimgeour. “That does not make it the exclusive property of Mr. Potter, whatever Dumbledore may have decided.”Scrimgeour scratched his badly shaven cheek, scrutinizing Harry. “Why do you think —?”  
“—Dumbledore wanted to give me the sword?” said Harry, struggling to keep his temper. “Maybe he thought it would look nice on my wall.”  
"Perhaps for defense! Obviously wands are usless!" Said Hazel, through gritted teeth. “This is not a joke, Potter!” growled Scrimgeour, ignoring Haz. “Was it because Dumbledore believed that only the sword of Godric Gryffindor could defeat the Heir of Slytherin? Did he wish to give you that sword, Potter, because he believed, as do many, that you are the one destined to destroy He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?”  
“Interesting theory,”said Harry. “Has anyone ever tried sticking a sword in Voldemort? Maybe the Ministry should put some people onto that, instead of wasting their time stripping down Deluminators or covering up breakouts from Azkaban. So is this what you’ve been doing, Minister, shut up in your office, trying to break open a Snitch? People are dying —I was nearly one of them —Voldemort chased me across three counties, he killed Mad-Eye Moody, but there’s been no word about any of that from the Ministry, has there? And you still expect us to cooperate with you!”  
“You go too far!” shouted Scrimgeour, standing up; Harry jumped to his feet too. Scrimgeour limped toward Harry and jabbed him hard in the chest with the point of his wand: It singed a hole in Harry’s T-shirt like a lit cigarette. Hazel jumped up pointing her wand at him. "Back away. I won't use this unless I must. I hope you understand that." She growled. The minister raised his wand and shot and disarming curse as her, that she dodged. “Oi!”said Ron, jumping up and raising his own wand, but Harry said, “No! D’you want to give him an excuse to arrest us?” he then took hold of Hazel's wand. "Dont." He whispered to her. “Remembered you’re not at school, have you?”said Scrimgeour, breathing hard into Harry’s face. “Remembered that I am not Dumbledore, who forgave your insolence and insubordination? You may wear that scar like a crown, Potter, but it is not up to a seventeen-year-old boy to tell me how to do my job! It’s time you learned some respect!”“It’s time you earned it,”said Harry, and Hazel at the same time. The floor trembled; there was a sound of running footsteps, then the door to the sitting room burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran in. “We —we thought we heard —”began Mr. Weasley, looking thoroughly alarmed at the sight of Harry and the Minister virtually nose to nose. “—raised voices,” panted Mrs. Weasley. Scrimgeour took a couple of steps back from Harry, glancing at the hole he had made in Harry’s T-shirt. He seemed to regret his loss of temper. “It —it was nothing,” he growled. “I . . . regret your attitude,” he said, looking Harry full in the face once more. “You seem to think that the Ministry does not desire what you —what Dumbledore —desired. We ought to be working together.”  
“I don’t like your methods, Minister,”said Harry. “Remember?”For the second time, he raised his right fist and displayed to Scrimgeour the scars that still showed white on the back of it, spelling I must not tell lies. Then Hazel raised her left hand and showed him her scars saying the same. "Your ways are wrong. We would die sooner thay work with you." Added Hazel. Scrimgeour’s expression hardened. He turned away without another word and limped from the room. Mrs. Weasley hurried after him; Hazel heard her stop at the back door. After a minute or so she called, “He’s gone!”  
“What did he want?” Mr. Weasley asked, looking around at Harry, Hazel, Ron, and Hermione as Mrs. Weasley came hurrying back to them. “To give us what Dumbledore left us,” said Harry. “They’ve only just released the contents of his will.” Outside in the garden, over the dinner tables, the three objects Scrimgeour had given them were passed from hand to hand. Everyone exclaimed over the Deluminator and The Tales of Beedle the Bard and lamented the fact that Scrimgeour had refused to pass on the sword, but none of them could offer any suggestion as to why Dumbledore would have left Harry an old Snitch. As Mr. Weasley examined the Deluminator for the third or fourth time, Mrs. Weasley said tentatively, “Harry, dear, everyone’s awfully hungry, we didn’t like to start without you. . . . Shall I serve dinner now?”  
They all ate rather hurriedly and then, after a hasty chorus of “Happy Birthday” and much gulping of cake, the party broke up. Hagrid, who was invited to the wedding the following day, but was far too bulky to sleep in the overstretched Burrow, left to set up a tent for himself in a neighboring field. “Meet us upstairs,” Harry whispered to Hermione, and Hazel while they helped Mrs. Weasley restore the garden to its normal state. “After everyone’s gone to bed.” Up in the attic room, Ron examined his Deluminator, and Harry filled Hagrid’s mokeskin purse, not with gold, but with those items he most prized, apparently worthless though some of them were: the Marauder’s Map, the shard of Sirius’s enchanted mirror, and R.A.B.’s locket. He pulled the strings tight and slipped the purse around his neck, then sat holding the old Snitch and watching its wings flutter feebly. At last, Hermione, and Hazel tapped on the door and tiptoed inside. “Muffliato,”she whispered, waving her wand in the direction of the stairs. “Thought you didn’t approve of that spell?”said Ron. “Times change,”said Hermione. “Now, show us that Deluminator.”Ron obliged at once. Holding it up in front of him, he clicked it. The solitary lamp they had lit went out at once. “The thing is,” whispered Hermione through the dark, “we could have achieved that with Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder.” There was a small click, and the ball of light from the lamp flew back to the ceiling and illuminated them all once more. “Still, it’s cool,” said Ron, a little defensively. “And from what they said, Dumbledore invented it himself!”  
“I know, but surely he wouldn’t have singled you out in his will just to help us turn out the lights!”“D’you think he knew the Ministry would confiscate his will and examine everything he’d left us?” asked Harry. “Definitely,” said Hermione. “He couldn’t tell us in the will why he was leaving us these things, but that still doesn’t explain . . .”  
“. . . why he couldn’t have given us a hint when he was alive?”asked Ron. “Well, exactly,”said Hermione, now flicking through The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Hazel looking over he shoulder. “If these things are important enough to pass on right under the nose of the Ministry, you’d think he’d have let us know why . . . unless he thought it was obvious?”  
“Thought wrong, then, didn’t he?” said Ron. “I always said he was mental. Brilliant and everything, but cracked. Leaving Harry an old Snitch —what the hell was that about?”  
"He was not cracked Ron." Said Hazel.  
“I’ve no idea,”said Hermione. “When Scrimgeour made you take it, Harry, I was so sure that something was going to happen!”  
“Yeah, well,” said Harry, his pulse quickening as he raised the Snitch in his fingers. “I wasn’t going to try too hard in front of Scrimgeour, was I?”  
Hazel looked up from the book and smiled at Harry. He knew she understood. "Oh! That's the one!" She cried. "The other half of me, you are." Harry said to Hazel.  
“What do you mean?” asked Hermione. “The Snitch I caught in my first ever Quidditch match?”said Harry. “Don’t you remember?”Hermione looked simply bemused. Ron, however, gasped, pointing frantically from Harry to the Snitch and back again until he found his voice. “That was the one you nearly swallowed!”  
“Exactly,” said Harry, he pressed his mouth to the Snitch. Hazel got off the chair next to Hermione and ran to Harry. She stared at the snitch. It did not open. Frustration and bitter disappointment welled up inside Her: He lowered the golden sphere, but then Haz cried out. “Writing! There’s writing on it, quick, look!”He nearly dropped the Snitch in surprise and excitement. Engraved upon the smooth golden surface, where seconds before there had been nothing, were five words written in the thin, slanting handwriting that Hazel recognized as Dumbledore’s: I open at the close. He had barely read them when the words vanished again. “‘I open at the close . . .’What’s that supposed to mean?”Hermione, and Ron shook their heads, looking blank. “I open at the close . . . at the close . . . I open at the close . . .”  
"I open at the close... what if it means it opened when all hope is lost... the CLOSE of Hogwarts?" Asked Hazel. "That could be..." Said Hermione. "Good thought." Said Harry. “And the sword,” said Ron finally, when they had at last abandoned their attempts to divine meaning in the Snitch’s inscription. “Why did he want Harry to have the sword?”  
“And why couldn’t he just have told me?” Harry said quietly. “It was there, it was right there on the wall of his office during all our talks last year! If he wanted me to have it, why didn’t he just give it to me then?”  
“And as for this book,” said Hermione, “The Tales of Beedle the Bard . . . I’ve never even heard of them!”  
“You’ve never heard of The Tales of Beedle the Bard?” said Ron incredulously. “You’re kidding, right?”  
"Even my mum, a squib, read it to me." Said Hazel.  
“No, I’m not!”said Hermione in surprise. “Do you know them, then?”  
“Well, of course I do!” Harry looked up, diverted. The circumstance of Ron having read a book that Hermione had not was unprecedented. Ron, however, looked bemused by their surprise. “Oh come on! All the old kids’ stories are supposed to be Beedle’s, aren’t they? ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune’. . . ‘The Wizard and the Hopping Pot’. . . ‘Babbitty Rabbitty and her Cackling Stump’. . .”“Excuse me?”said Hermione, giggling. “What was that last one?”  
“Come off it!” said Ron, looking in disbelief from Harry to Hermione. "They are great children's stories!" Said Hazel. “You must’ve heard of Babbitty Rabbitty —” Ron said.  
“Ron, you know full well Harry and I were brought up by Muggles!”said Hermione. “We didn’t hear stories like that when we were little, we heard ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’and ‘Cinderella’—”“What’s that, an illness?”asked Ron. “So these are children’s stories?”asked Hermione, bending again over the runes. “Yeah,”said Ron uncertainly, “I mean, that’s just what you hear, you know, that all these old stories came from Beedle. I dunno what they’re like in the original versions.”  
“But I wonder why Dumbledore thought I should read them?”Something creaked downstairs. “Probably just Charlie, now Mum’s asleep, sneaking off to regrow his hair,” said Ron nervously. “All the same, we should get to bed,”whispered Hermione. “It wouldn’t do to oversleep tomorrow.”  
“No,”agreed Ron. “A brutal triple murder by the bridegroom’s mother might put a bit of a damper on the wedding. I’ll get the lights.”And he clicked the Deluminator once more as Hermione and Hazel left the room.

 

Hazel was wearing her golden bridesmaid dress as Fleur fussed with her tiara. Hazel took off her seven inch heels and dashed out the door into the front lawn where Harry, Hermione, and Ron where, welcoming guests. Hermione looked at her, running across the yard. Hazel's kinky curls where pulled up in a bun and two ringlets hung down by her ears, there was a golden leaf crown in her hair, her dress was gold, it went to her knees, and had a black belt wrapped around the waist. Her make up was done to perfection, there where even little golden flecks in her lip gloss, to add touch of, how Fleur said "Ze Perfeect Beauty adjustmeent." Hazel was wearing contacts instead of her usual glasses. She had her seven in black heels in hand running across the lawn. Hazel ran right into Hermione's arms. "I'm freaking out." Hazel exclaimed. "Shh. It's ok. Don't worry, it will be fine." Said Hermione. "Imagine it's your wedding, be beautiful and radiant." Ron snorted. "Her wedding!? We will all if we make it a week." Said Ron. "RON! Hazel, it's your wedding." Insisted Hermione. "Who am I marrying?" Asked Hazel. "Why does it matter?" Asked Ron. "I am visualizing Ronald! Unless you want me to spew sick on your family!" Said Hazel. He made a nauseated face. "You are marrying who ever you would like." Said Hermione. Hazel couldn't help it, but she looked at Harry (he was in a disguise, he was a red headed tubby boy from the muggle town down the lane, he was called Barny), and she blushed tremendously, because he was looking right back at her. There was silence, for a bit. The silence was then broken by a dark haired man, who showed ron his invite. Then she tapped Hermione. “You look vunderful.”  
“Viktor!” she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said, “I didn’t know you were —goodness —it’s lovely to see —how are you?”  
"Good, Good. Oh, and look who it is! "!Hazel!" Said Krum, giving her a friendly hug. "Hi Viktor." She said rather awkwardly. "Are you in the Vedding?" He asked. "Yeah. Yup." She said. Ron’s ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum’s invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, “How come you’re here?”  
“Fleur invited me,” said Krum, eyebrows raised.  
Hazel knew it was time to go, for more than one reason, so she turned to Hermione. "See you in a bit." She said. "See you Viktor." Viktor smiled and wished her luck.  
Hazel ran back in the house, right into Mr and Mrs Weasley. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm so sorry!" Exclaimed Hazel. They smiled and insisted it was ok. Ginny rushed Hazel and Gabrielle down the aisle, they where being shooed by Fleur. Hazel looked at her friends as she passed their row, Hazel noticed 'Barny' was gaping at them. Hazel hoped it was directed toward her. Hermione looked so excited she might explode. And Ron had a look on his face Hazel had never seen before. He looked almost dazed, or taken with. This all made Hazel more confident. She imagined herself in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards a faceless man. As she approached the man began to have features, messy black hair, round glasses, a scar on his forehead. Hazel found she blushing ferociously, her face was hot. And it grew hotter when Ginny asked if she was ok. "I'm fine." Hazel whispered back. Suddenly Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst-colored robes with a matching hat. A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons. “Ooooh!”said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance. A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Hazel, Ginny and Gabrielle, all wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual, and once Fleur had reached him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback. “Ladies and gentlemen,”said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, Hazel saw the same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls . . .”  
“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, the bridesmaid dresses are far too low cut.” Hazel looked at Harry, she smiled and then winked at him. He smiled, blushing a little. "Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle . . . ?” In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned and beamed at Harry; her eyes too were full of tears. “. . . then I declare you bonded for life.”The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din. “Ladies and gentlemen!”called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!”They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden-jacketed band trooped toward a podium. Hazel ran from her spot and to her friends. "YOU DID IT!" Cried Hermione, hugging Hazel. Harry went to hug her, but held up his hand. "High five." He said. Hazel slapped it away, and gave him a hug. They watched the scenery set itself up. “Smooth,”said Ron approvingly as the waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches. “We should go and congratulate them!” said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers. “We’ll have time later,”shrugged Ron, snatching four butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry and one to Hazel. “Hermione, cop hold, let’s grab a table. . . . Not there! Nowhere near Muriel —”Ron led the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he went: Hazel felt sure that he was keeping an eye out for Krum. By the time they had reached the other side of the marquee, most of the tables were occupied: The emptiest was the one where Luna sat alone. “All right if we join you?” asked Ron. “Oh yes,” she said happily. “Daddy’s just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present.”“What is it, a lifetime’s supply of Gurdyroots?”asked Ron. Hermione aimed a kick at him under the table, but caught Harry instead. Bill and Fleur took to the dance floor first, to great applause; after a while, Mr. Weasley led Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mrs. Weasley and Fleur’s father. “I like this song,”said Luna, swaying in time to the waltzlike tune, and a few seconds later she stood up and glided onto the dance floor, where she revolved on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms. “She’s great, isn’t she?” said Ron admiringly. “Always good value.”But the smile vanished from his face at once: Viktor Krum had dropped into Luna’s vacant seat. Hermione looked pleasurably flustered, but this time Krum had not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face he said, “Who is that man in the yellow?”  
“That’s Xenophilius Lovegood, he’s the father of a friend of ours,” said Ron. His pugnacious tone indicated that they were not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the clear provocation. “Come and dance,”he added abruptly to Hermione. She looked taken aback, but pleased too, and got up. They vanished together into the growing throng on the dance floor. “Ah, they are together now?”asked Krum, momentarily distracted. "Yes." Said Hazel sternly. “Er —sort of,”said Harry. “Who are you?” Krum asked. “Barny Weasley.” They shook hands. “You, Barny —you know this man Lovegood vell?”  
“No, I only met him today. Why?” Krum glowered over the top of his drink, watching Xenophilius, who was chatting to several warlocks on the other side of the dance floor. “Because,” said Krum, “if he vos not a guest of Fleur’s, I vould duel him, here and now, for vearing that filthy sign upon his chest.”  
Hazel gasped "Viktor!" “Sign?” said Harry, looking over at Xenophilius too. The strange triangular eye was gleaming on his chest. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”“Grindelvald. That is Grindelvald’s sign.”  
“Grindelwald . . . the Dark wizard Dumbledore defeated?”  
"Grindelwald..." Hazel shuddered.  
“Exactly.” Krum’s jaw muscles worked as if he were chewing, then he said, “Grindelvald killed many people, my grandfather, for instance. Of course, he vos never poverful in this country, they said he feared Dumbledore —and rightly, seeing how he vos finished. But this”—he pointed a finger at Xenophilius —“this is his symbol, I recognized it at vunce: Grindelvald carved it into a vall at Durmstrang ven he vos a pupil there. Some idiots copied it onto their books and clothes, thinking to shock, make themselves impressive —until those of us who had lost family members to Grindelvald taught them better.”Krum cracked his knuckles menacingly and glowered at Xenophilius. Hazel felt perplexed. It seemed incredibly unlikely that Luna’s father was a supporter of the Dark Arts, and nobody else in the tent seemed to have recognized the triangular, runelike shape. "Viktor, thats my friend." Said Hazel, said Hazel pointing to luna. "And that man is her father!"  
"Vell, she can't be good if that is her father! I advise against her. Don't be friends with her." Said Krum. Hazel stared at him. "I'm sorry... what? Did you just tell me what to do?" Asked Hazel. "Oh no." Said Harry. "Yes. Of course. It's for the best." He said. "Oh no."  
"Ok. Ok, I'm sure it is." Said Hazel. Then she slammed down her mug ("oh no.") She pushed her chair out, hard. ("Oh no.") She stood, then slammed it back into place. ("oh no.") She smiled at Krum then she joined Luna in her dancing. "Like this?" Asked Hazel, waving her hands around. "Yeah! That's perfect!" Exclaimed Luna. "Now add a jump every four swats!" Said Luna. "This is fun!" Said Hazel. "And now, a kick!" Said Luna, demonstrating. Hazel swated the air four times, jumped, and kicked out her left foot. Suddenly her seven inch high heel went flying off her foot and right into the tent, creating a hole. "Oh no!" Cried Hazel, laughing. Luna doubled over in laughter. Hazel took off her other shoe then retrieved her other shoe from the rip in the tent. "Did you do that!?" Cried a voice. Hazel turned around, Fred was walking towards her. "Yeah." Said Hazel, smiling. "I won't tell if you do me a favor." He said. Hazel thought for a moment. "What?" She asked. "Just a dance." He replied. "Why?" She asked. "To make those French girls jealous." He said, smiling. "What happen? Run out of card tricks?" Asked Hazel. "Please?" He asked. Hazel nodded, then Fred grabbed her hand and pulled her to the dance floor, she barely had time to take her shoes off. A fast song began to play, Fred spun Hazel around. They began to dance so dangerously that people jumped out of the way. When the song ended a Veela cousin pulled Fred into a dance. Hazel was gasping for breath at this point, she decided to get a cup of punch. She took a sip of color changing fruit punch, and watched Fred dance with a Veela. "Hi." Said a voice. Hazel turned and saw Charlie, the second oldest Weasley, in his early 20's. "Wanna dance?" He asked. "Sure!" Said Hazel, setting her punch down. Charlie took her hand and they walked to the dance floor. A slow song began to play and Hazel put her hands on his shoulders and he put his hands on her hips. "So, how's work been?" Asked Hazel. "Good. Really good, we got a new green Welsh, she came in just recently, a baby." Said Charlie. "What's her name?" Asked Hazel. "We haven't named her yet." He said. "Well... if your looking for a name."  
"What have you got?" Asked Charlie. "Poppy." Said Hazel. "That's a brilliant name." Said Charlie. "Ill send message in the morning." Hazel smiled. "That's my sister's name. Well, it was her name." Said Hazel, she suddenly felt sad. "What's wrong?" He asked. "Nothing. Nothing, it's nothing." Said Hazel. "Well, it's obviously something. I'm not gonna ask, but im sorry." He said. "Thanks." She said as the song ended. She said good bye to him then she stared walking to Harry  
Hazel saw Krum lazily pointing to her. As she sat down Harry was saying to Krum; “Yeah,” said Harry, suddenly irritated, “and she’s seeing someone. Jealous type. Big bloke. You wouldn’t want to cross him.” Krum grunted. “Vot,” he said, draining his goblet and getting to his feet again, “is the point of being an international Quidditch player if all the good-looking girls are taken?” he scowled and strode away. "That's arrogant." Said Hazel. "Incredibly." Grumbled Harry. The wedding continued around them; Hermione and Ron had wondered off somewhere, Bill was now dancing with Mrs. Weasley, a Weasley relative was talking with Luna about Nargles, and Harry was staring down at his mug of Butterbeer. Hazel moved to Ron's empty seat, next to Harry. "Want to dance?" She asked. "Absolutely!" Said Harry. They strode to the dance floor and began doing Luna's dance. Swat, swat, swat, swat, jump, Kick,  
Swat, swat, swat, swat, jump, Kick. Ginny, Luna, and the twins joined in. Pretty soon so did Bill. Fleur looked at the group as if they where nuts, but then Bill pulled her into the group and they all began doing the dance. When the dance ended a few people clapped, they must have thought it was choreographed. Hazel and Harry rushed off the dance floor, Hazel spotted an old wizard sitting alone at a table. His cloud of white hair made him look rather like an aged dandelion clock and was topped by a moth-eaten fez. He was vaguely familiar: Racking his brains, Hazel suddenly realized that this was Elphias Doge, member of the Order of the Phoenix and the writer of Dumbledore’s obituary. Harry had the same idea, and he took Hazel with him, they approached him. “May we sit down?"  
“Of course, of course,”said Doge; he had a rather high-pitched, wheezy voice. Harry leaned in. “Mr. Doge, I’m Harry Potter, and this is Hazel, I don't know if you remember her.”  
Doge gasped. “My dear boy! Arthur told me you were here, disguised. . . . I am so glad, so honored!” In a flutter of nervous pleasure Doge poured them a goblet of champagne. “I thought of writing to you,”he whispered, “after Dumbledore . . . the shock . . . and for you, I am sure . . .”Doge’s tiny eyes filled with sudden tears, Hazel handed him a kercheif. "Thank you." He said, gratefully.  
“I saw the obituary you wrote for the Daily Prophet,”said Harry. “I didn’t realize you knew Professor Dumbledore so well.”  
“As well as anyone,” said Doge, dabbing his eyes with a napkin. “Certainly I knew him longest, if you don’t count Aberforth —and somehow, people never do seem to count Aberforth.”  
“Speaking of the Daily Prophet . . . I don’t know whether you saw, Mr. Doge —?”  
“Oh, please call me Elphias, dear boy.”  
“Elphias, I don’t know whether you saw the interview Rita Skeeter gave about Dumbledore?”Doge’s face flooded with angry color, as did Hazel's. “Oh yes, Harry, I saw it. That woman, or vulture might be a more accurate term, positively pestered me to talk to her. I am ashamed to say that I became rather rude, called her an interfering trout, which resulted, as you may have seen, in aspersions cast upon my sanity.”“Well, in that interview,” Hazel went on, “Rita Skeeter hinted that Professor Dumbledore was involved in the Dark Arts when he was young.”  
"I would say more than hinted." Grumbled Hazel.  
“Don’t believe a word of it!” said Doge at once. “Not a word, Hazel, or you, Harry! Let nothing tarnish your memories of Albus Dumbledore!” Hazel looked into Doge’s earnest, pained face and felt, not reassured, but frustrated. “Harry, Rita Skeeter is a dreadful —” But he was interrupted by a shrill cackle. “Rita Skeeter? Oh, I love her, always read her!” Hazel, Harry and Doge looked up to see Auntie Muriel standing there, the plumes dancing on her hat, a goblet of champagne in her hand. “She’s written a book about Dumbledore, you know!”  
“Hello, Muriel,” said Doge. “Yes, we were just discussing —”  
“You there! Give me your chair, I’m a hundred and seven!” Another redheaded Weasley cousin jumped off his seat, looking alarmed, and Auntie Muriel swung it around with surprising strength, Hazel ducked so it wouldn't hit her, and plopped herself down upon it between Doge and Harry. “Hello again, Barry, or whatever your name is,” she said to Harry. “Now, what were you saying about Rita Skeeter, Elphias? You know she’s written a biography of Dumbledore? I can’t wait to read it, I must remember to place an order at Flourish and Blotts!” Doge looked stiff and solemn at this, but Auntie Muriel drained her goblet and clicked her bony fingers at a passing waiter for a replacement. She took another large gulp of champagne, belched, and then said, “There’s no need to look like a few stuffed frogs! Before he became so respected and respectable and all that tosh, there were some mighty funny rumors about Albus!”  
“Ill-informed sniping,”said Doge, turning radish-colored again. “You would say that, Elphias,”cackled Auntie Muriel. “I noticed how you skated over the sticky patches in that obituary of yours!”  
“I’m sorry you think so,” said Doge, more coldly still. “I assure you I was writing from the heart.”  
“Oh, we all know you worshipped Dumbledore; I daresay you’ll still think he was a saint even if it does turn out that he did away with his Squib sister!”  
“Muriel!” exclaimed Doge. A chill that had nothing to do with the iced champagne was stealing through Hazel’s chest. “What do you mean?” Harry asked Muriel. “Who said his sister was a Squib? I thought she was ill?”  
“Thought wrong, then, didn’t you, Barry!” said Auntie Muriel, looking delighted at the effect she had produced. “Anyway, how could you expect to know anything about it? It all happened years and years before you were even thought of, my dear, and the truth is that those of us who were alive then never knew what really happened. That’s why I can’t wait to find out what Skeeter’s unearthed! Dumbledore kept that sister of his quiet for a long time!”  
“Untrue!” wheezed Doge. “Absolutely untrue!”  
“He never told me his sister was a Squib,” said Harry, Hazel kicked his leg and threw him a What-The-Hell look. “And why on earth would he tell you?” screeched Muriel, swaying a little in her seat as she attempted to focus upon Harry. “The reason Albus never spoke about Ariana,”began Elphias in a voice stiff with emotion, “is, I should have thought, quite clear. He was so devastated by her death —”  
“Why did nobody ever see her, Elphias?”squawked Muriel. “Why did half of us never even know she existed, until they carried the coffin out of the house and held a funeral for her? Where was saintly Albus while Ariana was locked in the cellar? Off being brilliant at Hogwarts, and never mind what was going on in his own house!”  
“What d’you mean, locked in the cellar?”asked Harry. “What is this?” Doge looked wretched. Auntie Muriel cackled again and answered Harry. “Dumbledore’s mother was a terrifying woman, simply terrifying. Muggle-born, though I heard she pretended otherwise —”  
“She never pretended anything of the sort! Kendra was a fine woman,” whispered Doge miserably, but Auntie Muriel ignored him. “—proud and very domineering, the sort of witch who would have been mortified to produce a Squib —”  
“Ariana was not a Squib!” wheezed Doge. “So you say, Elphias, but explain, then, why she never attended Hogwarts!”said Auntie Muriel. She turned back to Harry and Hazel. “In our day, Squibs were often hushed up, though to take it to the extreme of actually imprisoning a little girl in the house and pretending she didn’t exist —”  
“I tell you, that’s not what happened!” said Doge, but Auntie Muriel steamrollered on, still addressing Harry and Hazel. “Squibs were usually shipped off to Muggle schools and encouraged to integrate into the Muggle community . . . much kinder than trying to find them a place in the Wizarding world, where they must always be second class; but naturally Kendra Dumbledore wouldn’t have dreamed of letting her daughter go to a Muggle school —”  
“Ariana was delicate!” said Doge desperately. “Her health was always too poor to permit her —”  
“—to permit her to leave the house?” cackled Muriel. “And yet she was never taken to St. Mungo’s and no Healer was ever summoned to see her!”  
“Really, Muriel, how you can possibly know whether —”“For your information, Elphias, my cousin Lancelot was a Healer at St. Mungo’s at the time, and he told my family in strictest confidence that Ariana had never been seen there. All most suspicious, Lancelot thought!”Doge looked to be on the verge of tears, almost how Hazel felt inside  
Auntie Muriel, who seemed to be enjoying herself hugely, snapped her fingers for more champagne. “Now, if Kendra hadn’t died first,” Muriel resumed, “I’d have said that it was she who finished off Ariana —”“How can you, Muriel?” groaned Doge. “A mother kill her own daughter? Think what you are saying!” Hazel felt enough was enough, it was her turn to interject, she wasn't afraid of anybody! "This is absurd! Absolutely blasphemous!" Roared Hazel. "Ahh, the wee one speaks up." Said Auntie Muriel. "Yah! I do, and you have no right to say any of what you have! Albus Dumbledore and his family where perfectly fine people!" Hissed Hazel. "And how would you know?" Asked Auntie Muriel. "I-i...I do! I just do!" Replied Hazel, thinking about the time she accidentally stumbles upon one of Dumbledore's memories, his mother, father, brother, and himself where talking at the table, during tea, over the summer. Dumbledore had felt bad Ariana couldn't walk down the hall to their conversation. So his mother told him to take food and tea to her. They spent a good hour and a half talking. And when he left little Ariana had a weak smile on her face. "You just do? That's not a reason !" Howl Auntie Muriel, in laughter. "KENDRA DID NOT KILL ARIANA!" Exclaimed Hazel, looking more like Bellatrix than ever.  
“If the mother in question was capable of imprisoning her daughter for years on end, why not?”shrugged Auntie Muriel. “But as I say, it doesn’t fit, because Kendra died before Ariana —of what, nobody ever seemed sure —”  
“Oh, no doubt Ariana murdered her,” said Doge with a brave attempt at scorn. “Why not?”  
“Yes, Ariana might have made a desperate bid for freedom and killed Kendra in the struggle,”.said Auntie Muriel thoughtfully. “Shake your head all you like, Elphias! You were at Ariana’s funeral, were you not?”“Yes I was,” said Doge, through trembling lips. “And a more desperately sad occasion I cannot remember. Albus was heartbroken —”  
“His heart wasn’t the only thing. Didn’t Aberforth break Albus’s nose halfway through the service?” If Doge had looked horrified before this, it was nothing to how he looked now. Muriel might have stabbed him. She cackled loudly and took another swig of champagne, which dribbled down her chin. “How do you —?”croaked Doge. “My mother was friendly with old Bathilda Bagshot,” said Auntie Muriel happily. “Bathilda described the whole thing to Mother while I was listening at the door. A coffin-side brawl! The way Bathilda told it, Aberforth shouted that it was all Albus’s fault that Ariana was dead and then punched him in the face. According to Bathilda, Albus did not even defend himself, and that’s odd enough in itself, Albus could have destroyed Aberforth in a duel with both hands tied behind his back.”Muriel swigged yet more champagne. “And I’ll tell you something else,”Muriel said, hiccuping slightly as she lowered her goblet. “I think Bathilda has spilled the beans to Rita Skeeter. All those hints in Skeeter’s interview about an important source close to the Dumbledores —goodness knows she was there all through the Ariana business, and it would fit!”  
“Bathilda would never talk to Rita Skeeter!” whispered Doge. “Bathilda Bagshot?” Harry said. “The author of A History of Magic?” “Yes,” said Doge, clutching at Harry’s question like a drowning man at a life belt. “A most gifted magical historian and an old friend of Albus’s.”  
“Quite gaga these days, I’ve heard,” said Auntie Muriel cheerfully. “If that is so, it is even more dishonorable for Skeeter to have taken advantage of her,” said Doge, “and no reliance can be placed on anything Bathilda may have said!”  
“Oh, there are ways of bringing back memories, and I’m sure Rita Skeeter knows them all,”said Auntie Muriel. “But even if Bathilda’s completely cuckoo, I’m sure she’d still have old photographs, maybe even letters. She knew the Dumbledores for years. . . . Well worth a trip to Godric’s Hollow, I’d have thought.”Harry, who had been taking a sip of butterbeer, choked. Doge banged him on the back as Harry coughed, looking at Auntie Muriel through streaming eyes. Once he had control of his voice again, he asked, “Bathilda Bagshot lives in Godric’s Hollow?"  
“Oh yes, she’s been there forever! The Dumbledores moved there after Percival was imprisoned, and she was their neighbor.”  
“The Dumbledores lived in Godric’s Hollow?”  
“Yes, Barry, that’s what I just said,” said Auntie Muriel testily.  
Hazel stared at Harry, his face drained of color, yet burning red, it was twisted into a look of anger and confusion. She placed her hand on his, he didn't move of flinch, he didn't even look at her. Suddenly Hermione plopped down next to them.  
“I simply can’t dance anymore,” she panted, slipping off one of her shoes and rubbing the sole of her foot. “Ron’s gone looking to find more butterbeers. It’s a bit odd, I’ve just seen Viktor storming away from Luna’s father, it looked like they’d been arguing —” She dropped her voice, staring at Harry. “Harry, are you okay?”  
"I think Ron's aunt has struck a chord." Mumbled Hazel. Before Hermione could respond something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus’s mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt. “The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.” Hazel stood up, her chair falling back. Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Harry, Hazel, and Hermione jumped to their feet and drew their wands. Many people were only just realizing that something strange had happened; heads were still turning toward the silver cat as it vanished. Silence spread outward in cold ripples from the place where the Patronus had landed. Then somebody screamed. Harry, Hazel, and Hermione threw themselves into the panicking crowd. Guests were sprinting in all directions; many were Disapparating; the protective enchantments around the Burrow had broken. “Ron!” Hermione cried. “Ron, where are you?”  
"RON!" Screamed Hazel. As they pushed their way across the dance floor, Harry saw cloaked and masked figures appearing in the crowd; then he saw Lupin and Tonks, their wands raised, and heard both of them shout, “Protego!”, a cry that was echoed on all sides —“Ron! Ron!" Hazel, and Hermione called, half sobbing as they and Harry were buffeted by terrified guests: Harry seized their hands to make sure they weren’t separated as a streak of light whizzed over their heads, whether a protective charm or something more sinister he did not know —And then Ron was there. He caught hold of Hermione’s free arm, and Hazel felt her turn on the spot; sight and sound were extinguished as darkness pressed in upon her; all she could feel was Hermione’s hand as she was squeezed through space and time, away from the Burrow, away from the descending Death Eaters, away, perhaps, from Voldemort himself. . . . “Where are we?”said Ron’s voice. Hazel opened her eyes. For a moment she thought they had not left the wedding after all: They still seemed to be surrounded by people. “Tottenham Court Road,” panted Hermione. “Walk, just walk, we need to find somewhere for you to change.” Harry did as she asked. They half walked, half ran up the wide dark street thronged with late-night revelers and lined with closed shops, stars twinkling above them. A double-decker bus rumbled by and a group of merry pub-goers ogled them as they passed; Harry and Ron were still wearing dress robes. “Hermione, we haven’t got anything to change into,” Ron told her, as a young woman burst into raucous giggles at the sight of him, as they passed Hazel flicked her wand, a guest of air blew up the woman's skirt. “Why didn’t I make sure I had the Invisibility Cloak with me?” said Harry. “All last year I kept it on me and —”  
“It’s okay, I’ve got the Cloak, I’ve got clothes for three of you,” said Hermione. “Just try and act naturally until —this will do.” She led them down a side street, then into the shelter of a shadowy alleyway. “When you say you’ve got the Cloak, and clothes . . .” said Harry, frowning at Hermione, who was carrying nothing except her small beaded handbag, in which she was now rummaging. “Yes, they’re here,” said Hermione, and to Harry and Ron’s utter astonishment, she pulled out a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, some maroon socks, and finally the silvery Invisibility Cloak, Hazel, knowing most of Hermione's secrets, smirked. “How the ruddy hell —?”“Undetectable Extension Charm,” said Hermione. “Tricky, but I think I’ve done it okay; anyway, I managed to fit everything we need in here.”She gave the fragile-looking bag a little shake and it echoed like a cargo hold as a number of heavy objects rolled around inside it. “Oh, damn, that’ll be the books,” she said, peering into it, “and I had them all stacked by subject. . . . Oh well. . . . Harry, you’d better take the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, hurry up and change. . . .”  
“When did you do all this?”Harry asked as Ron stripped off his robes. “I told you at the Burrow, I’ve had the essentials packed for days, you know, in case we needed to make a quick getaway. I packed your rucksack this morning, Harry, after you changed, and put it in here. . . . I just had a feeling. . . .”  
“You’re amazing, you are,”said Ron, handing her his bundled-up robes. “Thank you,” said Hermione, managing a small smile as she pushed the robes into the bag. “Please, Harry, get that Cloak on!” Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders and pulled it up over his head, vanishing from sight. He was only just beginning to appreciate what had happened. “The others —everyone at the wedding —”  
“We can’t worry about that now,” whispered Hermione. “It’s you they’re after, Harry, and we’ll just put everyone in even more danger by going back.”“She’s right,”said Ron, who seemed to know that Harry was about to argue, even if he could not see his face. “Most of the Order was there, they’ll look after everyone.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Come on, I think we ought to keep moving,”said Hermione. They moved back up the side street and onto the main road again, where a group of men on the opposite side was singing and weaving across the pavement. “Just as a matter of interest, why Tottenham Court Road?” Ron asked Hermione. “I’ve no idea, it just popped into my head, but I’m sure we’re safer out in the Muggle world, it’s not where they’ll expect us to be.”  
“True,” said Ron, looking around, “but don’t you feel a bit —exposed?”  
“Where else is there?” asked Hermione, cringing as the men on the other side of the road started wolf-whistling at her and Hazel (Hazel threw them a rude gesture). “We can hardly book rooms at the Leaky Cauldron, can we? And Grimmauld Place is out if Snape can get in there. . . . I suppose we could try my parents’ house, though I think there’s a chance they might check there. . . . Oh, I wish they’d shut up!”“All right, cuties?” the drunkest of the men on the other pavement was yelling. “Fancy a drink? Ditch ginger and come and have a pint!”  
"Why dont you shove that pint up your-." Began Hazel, Hermione grabbed Hazel's arm before she finished. "Hey frizzy, let her keep talking." Said the man. “Let’s sit down somewhere,” Hermione said hastily as Ron opened his mouth to shout back across the road. “Look, this will do, in here!” It was a small and shabby all-night café. A light layer of grease lay on all the Formica-topped tables, but it was at least empty. Harry slipped into a booth first and Hazel sat next to him opposite Ron and Hermione, who had their backs to the entrance and did not like it: Hermione glanced over her shoulder so frequently she appeared to have a twitch. Haz did not like being stationary; walking had given the illusion that they had a goal. Beneath the Cloak he could feel the last vestiges of Polyjuice leaving him, his hands returning to their usual length and shape. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket and put them on again. After a minute or two, Ron said, “You know, we’re not far from the Leaky Cauldron  
here, it’s only in Charing Cross —”  
“Ron, we can’t!” said Hermione at once. “Not to stay there, but to find out what’s going on!”  
“We know what’s going on! Voldemort’s taken over the Ministry, what else do we need to know?”  
“Okay, okay, it was just an idea!” They relapsed into a prickly silence. The gum-chewing waitress shuffled over and Hermione ordered two cappuccinos, and a mocha: As Harry was invisible, it would have looked odd to order him one. A pair of burly workmen entered the café and squeezed into the next booth. Hermione dropped her voice to a whisper. “I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we’re there, we could send a message to the Order.”  
“Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?”asked Ron. “I’ve been practicing and I think so,”said Hermione. "I've got it down too." Said Hazel. “Well, as long as it doesn’t get them into trouble, though they might’ve been arrested already. God, that’s revolting,”Ron added after one sip of the foamy, grayish coffee. The waitress had heard; she shot Ron a nasty look as she shuffled off to take the new customers’orders. The larger of the two workmen, who was blond and quite huge, now that Harry came to look at him, waved her away. She stared, affronted. “Let’s get going, then, I don’t want to drink this muck,” said Ron. “Hermione, Hazel, have you got Muggle money to pay for this?”  
“Yes, I took out all my Building Society savings before I came to the Burrow. I’ll bet all the change is at the bottom,” sighed Hermione, reaching for her beaded bag. The two workmen made identical movements, and Hazel mirrored them without conscious thought: All three of them drew their wands. Ron, a few seconds late in realizing what was going on, lunged across the table, pushing Hermione sideways onto her bench. The force of the Death Eaters’ spells shattered the tiled wall where Ron’s head had just been, as Harry, still invisible, yelled, “Stupefy!” The great blond Death Eater was hit in the face by a jet of red light: He slumped sideways, unconscious. His companion, unable to see who had cast the spell, fired another at Ron: Shining black ropes flew from his wand-tip and bound Ron head to foot —the waitress screamed and ran for the door —Harry sent another Stunning Spell at the Death Eater with the twisted face who had tied up Ron, but the spell missed, rebounded on the window, and hit the waitress, who collapsed in front of the door. Hazel shot a stupefy curse at him, It missed. "CRUCIO!" He yelled, hitting Hazel. Suddenly all the pain she ever felt flooded her, she fell to the ground. Screaming at the top of her lungs. She felt her family laughing with out her, Neville's look of disappointment, Dennis betraying her, Draco, her cousin, there the night Dumbledore was killed, at the same time killing the shred of good Hazel thought he might posses, and Harry, Harry, they where no longer together. She screamed bloody murder, clutching her ears. "MAKE IT STOP!" She yelled, feeling her body start to burn up. There where hot tears running down her face. "Please. Please. Make it stop. Make it stop." She whimpered. "Im sorry. I'm sorry. Take me away. Please. Please. Save me. Please save me. Save me." She cried, shaking. Suddenly the burning stopped and she was being clutched in a pair of arms, rocking her back and forth. She held the arms close as she cried. "Your safe. Your safe. Your safe." Said a distorted voice. "Your safe. Your safe. Your safe." The voice became clearer. "I have you, your safe." Said Harry's voice. She clutched Harry's arms like a bar on a roller coster. Hazel felt another arm on her back, and another around her neck. She quickly turned, flinging her arm around Harry's neck. "It was so horrible. The most horrible. There has never been more fear or pain in my life, not ever." She said weakly, through sobs. She felt a pair of lips against her forehead. They didn't move, neither did the arms, not for a few minutes. "W-we need to get going. They'll find us." Said Hermione after a moment. "Yeah. Yeah, let's get going." Said Hazel, sniffling. They all stood up and walked over to the one death eater, who was frozen on the floor.  
“I should’ve recognized him, he was there the night Dumbledore died," Harry said. He turned over the darker Death Eater with his foot; the man’s eyes moved rapidly between Harry, Hazel Ron, and Hermione. “That’s Dolohov,” said Ron. “I recognize him from the old wanted posters. I think the big one’s Thorfinn Rowle.”  
“Never mind what they’re called!” said Hermione a little hysterically. “How did they find us? What are we going to do?”  
“Lock the door," Harry told her, “and Ron, turn out the lights.” He looked down at the paralyzed Dolohov, he still had hold of Hazel's hand. “What are we going to do with them?” Ron whispered to Harry through the dark; then, even more quietly, “Kill them? They’d kill us. They had a good go just now.”Hermione shuddered and took a step backward. Harry shook his head. "Thats Voldemort job. To take revenge." Said Hazel. She could feel Ron glowering at her, for being wise. “We just need to wipe their memories,”said Harry. “It’s better like that, it’ll throw them off the scent. If we killed them it’d be obvious we were here.”  
“You’re the boss,”said Ron, sounding profoundly relieved. “But I’ve never done a Memory Charm.”  
“Nor have I,” said Hermione, “but I know the theory.”  
"I Have." Said Hazel, glumly. "Could you do it again?" Asked Hermione. "S-sure." She took a deep, calming breath, then pointed her wand at Dolohov’s forehead and said, “Obliviate.” At once, Dolohov’s eyes became unfocused and dreamy. “Brilliant!” said Harry, clapping her on the back. “Take care of the other one and the waitress while Ron, Hermione and I clear up.”  
“Clear up?”said Ron, looking around at the partly destroyed café. “Why?”  
“Don’t you think they might wonder what’s happened if they wake up and find themselves in a place that looks like it’s just been bombed?”  
“Oh right, yeah . . .” Ron struggled for a moment before managing to extract his wand from his pocket. “It’s no wonder I can’t get it out, Hermione, you packed my old jeans, they’re tight.”  
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” hissed Hermione, and as she dragged the waitress out of sight of the windows, Hazel heard her mutter a suggestion as to where Ron could stick his wand instead. Once the café was restored to its previous condition, they heaved the Death Eaters back into their booth and propped them up facing each other. “But how did they find us?”Hermione asked, looking from one inert man to the other. “How did they know where we were?” She turned to Harry. “You —you don’t think you’ve still got your Trace on you, do you, Harry?”  
“He can’t have,” said Ron. “The Trace breaks at seventeen, that’s Wizarding law, you can’t put it on an adult.”  
“As far as you know,”.said Hermione. “What if the Death Eaters have found a way to put it on a seventeen-year-old?”  
“But Harry hasn’t been near a Death Eater in the last twenty-four hours. Who’s supposed to have put a Trace back on him?” Hermione did not reply. “If I can’t use magic, and you can’t use magic near me, without us giving away our position —”he began. “We’re not splitting up!” said Hermione firmly. "Dont you dare, you are my last line to sanity." Hazel mumbled in his ear. “We need a safe place to hide,”said Ron. “Give us time to think things through.”“Grimmauld Place,”said Harry. The other three gaped. “Don’t be silly, Harry, Snape can get in there!”  
“Ron’s dad said they’ve put up jinxes against him —and even if they haven’t worked,” he pressed on as Hermione began to argue, “so what? I swear, I’d like nothing better than to meet Snape!”  
"Me too." Said Hazel.  
“But —”  
“Hermione, where else is there? It’s the best chance we’ve got. Snape’s only one Death Eater. If I’ve still got the Trace on me, we’ll have whole crowds of them on us wherever else we go.”She could not argue, though she looked as if she would have liked to. While she unlocked the café door, Ron clicked the Deluminator to release the café’s light. Then, on Harry’s count of three, they reversed the spells upon their three victims, and before the waitress or either of the Death Eaters could do more than stir sleepily, Harry, Hazel, Ron, and Hermione had turned on the spot and vanished into the compressing darkness once more. Seconds later Hazel’s lungs expanded gratefully and he opened his eyes: They were now standing in the middle of a familiar small and shabby square. Tall, dilapidated houses looked down on them from every side. Number twelve was visible to them, for they had been told of its existence by Dumbledore, its Secret-Keeper, and they rushed toward it, checking every few yards that they were not being followed or observed. They raced up the stone steps, and Harry tapped the front door once with his wand. They heard a series of metallic clicks and the clatter of a chain, then the door swung open with a creak and they hurried over the threshold. As Harry closed the door behind them, the old-fashioned gas lamps sprang into life, casting flickering light along the length of the hallway. It looked just as Hazel remembered it: eerie, cobwebbed, old, fulfilling, interesting, the outlines of the house-elf heads on the wall throwing odd shadows up the staircase, and making her feel slightly happy. Long dark curtains concealed the portrait of Sirius’s mother. The only thing that was out of place was the troll’s leg umbrella stand, which was lying on its side as if Tonks had just knocked it over again. “I think somebody’s been in here,” Hermione whispered, pointing toward it. “That could’ve happened as the Order left,” Ron murmured back. “So where are these jinxes they put up against Snape?” Harry asked. “Maybe they’re only activated if he shows up?”suggested Ron. Yet they remained close together on the doormat, backs against the door, scared to move farther into the house. “Well, we can’t stay here forever,” said Harry, and he took a step forward. “Severus Snape?” Mad-Eye Moody’s voice whispered out of the darkness, making all four of them jump back in fright. “We’re not Snape!” croaked Harry. But then something whooshed over Hazel like cold air and her tongue curled backward on itself, making it impossible to speak. Before she had time to feel inside her mouth, however, her tongue had unraveled again. The other three seemed to have experienced the same unpleasant sensation. Ron was making retching noises; Hermione stammered, “That m-must have b-been the T-Tongue-Tying Curse Mad-Eye set up for Snape!”Gingerly Harry took another step forward. Something shifted in the shadows at the end of the hall, and before any of them could say another word, a figure had risen up out of the carpet, tall, dust-colored, and terrible: Hermione screamed and so did Mrs. Black, her curtains flying open; the gray figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster, its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets: Horribly familiar, dreadfully altered, it raised a wasted arm, pointing at Harry. “No!” Harry shouted, and though he had raised his wand no spell occurred to him. “No! It wasn’t us! We didn’t kill you —” On the word kill, the figure exploded in a great cloud of dust: Coughing, his eyes watering, Harry looked around to see Hermione crouched on the floor by the door with her arms over her head, and Ron, who was shaking from head to foot, patting her clumsily on the shoulder and saying, “It’s all r-right. . . . It’s g-gone. . . .”Dust swirled around Hazsl like mist, catching the blue gaslight, as Mrs. Black continued to scream. “Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, taint of shame on the house of my fathers —”  
“SHUT UP!” Harry bellowed, directing his wand at her. But the bang and a burst of red sparks didnt come from his wand, it came from Hazel's, the curtains swung shut again, silencing her. “That . . . that was . . . .”Hermione whimpered, as Ron helped her to her feet. “Yeah,”said Harry, “but it wasn’t really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape.” Had it worked, Hazel wondered, or had Snape already blasted the horror-figure aside as casually as he had killed the real Dumbledore? Nerves still tingling, she led the other three up the hall, half-expecting some new terror to reveal itself, but nothing moved except for a mouse skittering along the skirting board. “Before we go any farther, I think we’d better check,” whispered Hermione, and she raised her wand and said, “Homenum revelio.”Nothing happened. “Well, you’ve just had a big shock,”said Ron kindly. “What was that supposed to do?” Hazel clapped her hand on her forehead.  
“It did what I meant it to do!”said Hermione rather crossly. “That was a spell to reveal human presence, and there’s nobody here except us!”  
“And old Dusty,” said Ron, glancing at the patch of carpet from which the corpse-figure had risen. “Let’s go up,” said Hermione with a frightened look at the same spot, and she led the way up the creaking stairs to the drawing room on the first floor. Hermione waved her wand to ignite the old gas lamps, then, shivering slightly in the drafty room, she perched on the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Ron crossed to the window and moved the heavy velvet curtain aside an inch. “Can’t see anyone out there,” he reported. “And you’d think, if Harry still had a Trace on him, they’d have followed us here. I know they can’t get in the house, but —what’s up, Harry?” Harry had given a cry of pain. Hazel jumped off the wooden stool and over to Harry. “What did you see?”Ron asked, advancing on Harry. “Did you see him at my place?”  
“No, I just felt anger —he’s really angry —”  
“But that could be at the Burrow,” said Ron loudly. “What else? Didn’t you see anything? Was he cursing someone?”  
“No, I just felt anger —I couldn’t tell —”Harry felt “Your scar, again? But what’s going on? I thought that connection had closed!”  
“It did, for a while,”muttered Harry. “I —I think it’s started opening again whenever he loses control, that’s how it used to —”  
“But then you’ve got to close your mind!” said Hermione shrilly. “Harry, Dumbledore didn’t want you to use that connection, he wanted you to shut it down, that’s why you were supposed to use Occlumency! Otherwise Voldemort can plant false images in your mind, remember —”  
“Yeah, I do remember, thanks,”said Harry through gritted teeth. He turned his back on Ron, Hazel and Hermione, pretending to examine the old tapestry of the Black family tree on the wall. Then Hermione shrieked: Harry drew his wand again and spun around to see a silver Patronus soar through the drawing room window and land upon the floor in front of them, where it solidified into the weasel that spoke with the voice of Ron’s father. “Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.”The Patronus dissolved into nothingness. Ron let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and dropped onto the sofa: Hermione joined him, gripping his arm. “They’re all right, they’re all right!”she whispered, and Ron half laughed and hugged her. “Harry,” he said over Hermione’s shoulder, “I —”  
“It’s not a problem,” said Harry. “It’s your family, ’course you’re worried. I’d feel the same way. I do feel the same way, your family are the closest thing i have to family."  
“I don’t want to be on my own. Could we use the sleeping bags I’ve brought and camp in here tonight?” Said Hermione. "That's sounds like a plan." Said Ron. Hazel turned and smiled at Harry, his face was pale. “Bathroom,” Harry muttered. Hazel turned to Hermione. "Mione, please remember Harry can't always control seeing into Voldemort's mind." Hazel reminded her. "I know. He just need to try." Said Hermione. "He does, but sometimes it's an advantage." Said Hazel. "Advantage?" Asked Hermione. "Yeah. If it's crucial." Said Hazel. Hermione gaped at Hazel. "Dont tell me you've never thought that Ron!" Said Hazel. "Well... of course I have thought that. I've never actually considered using it in reality." Admitted Ron. "See Hermione? It can't be all bad." Said Hazel. Hermione looked flustered that they, two of her best friends, where ganging up on her. "I thought you cared about Harry?" Said Hermione, looking pissed. Hazel felt the heat rise in her face. "Don't ever question whether or not I care for Harry. Nor you nor Ron. Because I have lost too much, and you are the last things I have to care for." Hazel hissed. Hermione looked taken aback, as did Ron. Hermione looked suddenly guilty for what she said. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I know." Said Hermione. "Could you take Harry his tooth brush?" Hazel nodded, and Hermione handed her a blue toothbrush. "Thanks." Said Hazel. The walked off towards the bathroom, straightening the trolls leg umbrella stand, she knocked on the door of the bathroom and said “Harry, do you want your toothbrush? I’ve got it here.”  
“Yeah, great, thanks,” he said. He opened the door slightly. "Just, hand it through here." Said His voice. She peers through the door at him and saw the sickened look on his face, and his pale complexion. She pushed the door open. "Whats wrong?" She asked. "Nothing. Nothing." He said, trying to hide his face, casually, with the shower curtain "Harry James Potter," she said warningly. "Whats wrong?" He looked guilty, he moved the shower curtain and looked at her. Like a puppy that had just done something horrible. She gasped, his face was white snow, but his cheeks redder than cherries, she reached out and touched his face; it was hot and clammy. "What was it? What did you see?" Asked Hazel. "It was nothing." He replied. She looked into his eyes, searching them. "Really truly?" Asked Hazel. "No... but it's ok. Don't worry about it." He insisted. She looked sadly at him, She knew it must have been bad, she dropped her hand to her side, and said "Ok. Ok." She walked away, and didn't ask him about it again. Though she asked Ron and Hermione if he had said anything to them, he hadn't. 

The next morning Hazel woke up, looking at Ron and Hermione, they must had fell asleep holding hands, their finger tips where inches from each other. The scene in front of her made her feel very alone, and sad. She didn't have Harry, she didn't have her family, the Weasley's would be put in danger if they where contacted, and Tonks... She couldn't even talk to her best friend/cousin. Although Hazel was happy to know Hermione and Ron had each other, she was sad to know she didn't have anyone to hold her hand through the night, when she was scared, to to kiss away her tears; she had that for a while, but the times right now we're just too hard. She knew Harry was right, in what he said last year, at Dumbledore's funeral. There wasn't time for a relationship. And Voldemort would find out they had been together for over four years, he would find out and take her, and force Harry to give himself up. She knew now that they were just friends he wouldn't only go for her. She turned over in her sleeping bag, looking to the place where Harry had fallen asleep. She quickly noticed the sleeping bag was empty. "Harry!" Exclaimed Hazel, sitting shot up. Both Ron and Hermione jumped up, their sleep forgotten. "Where is he?" Asked Hermione, the drowsiness not lingering on her face, instead it was full of fear. "I dont know. We need to search the house then the streets, quickly." Said Hazel. Hermione ran to the kitchen, Ron took the middle level and Hazel ran to the upper landing stairs. “Harry? Harry! Harry!” yelled Hazel, running up the stairs.“I’m here!” he called. “What’s happened?” Hazel ran to the bedroom door that read "Sirius", and she burst inside. “We woke up and didn’t know where you were!” she said breathlessly. She turned and shouted over her shoulder, “Ron, Hermione, I’ve found him!” Ron’s annoyed voice echoed distantly from several floors below. “Good! Tell him from me he’s a git!”  
"Oh good!" Yelled Hermione.  
“Harry, don’t just disappear, please, we were terrified! Why did you come up here anyway?” She gazed around the ransacked room. “What have you been doing?”  
“Look what I’ve just found.” He held out his mother’s letter. Haz took it and read it while Harry watched her. When she reached the end of the page she looked up at him. “Oh, Harry . . .”  
“And there’s this too.”He handed her the torn photograph, and Hazel smiled at the baby zooming in and out of sight on the toy broom. "Harry..."  
“I’ve been looking for the rest of the letter,” Harry said, “but it’s not here.” Hazel glanced around. “Did you make all this mess, or was some of it done when you got here?”  
“Someone had searched before me,”said Harry. “I thought so. Every room I looked into on the way up had been disturbed. What were they after, do you think?”  
“Information on the Order, if it was Snape.”  
“But you’d think he’d already have all he needed, I mean, he was in the Order, wasn’t he?”  
“Well then,”.said Harry, keen to discuss his theory, “what about information on Dumbledore? The second page of this letter, for instance. You know this Bathilda my mum mentions, you know who she is?”  
“Who?”  
“Bathilda Bagshot, the author of —”  
“A History of Magic,” said Hazel, looking interested. “So your parents knew her? She was an incredible magical historian.”  
“And she’s still alive,”said Harry, “and she lives in Godric’s Hollow, Ron’s Auntie Muriel was talking about her at the wedding. She knew Dumbledore’s family too. Be pretty interesting to talk to, wouldn’t she?”  
"I think would be brilliant to talk to her. About your parents, and Dumbledore!" Said Hazel excitedly. Harry smiled widely and took back the letter and the photograph and tucked them inside the pouch around his neck. "Harry, I know you don't think those things Muriel were saying are true, do you?" Asked Hazel, after a moment. "I don't know. I know I shouldn't believe it, but it's hard... I feel like I don't know.if I knew him or not." Admitted Harry  
Hazel stared at him. "That Dumbledore that stood on the tower, the Dumbledore that saved you; that's is the Dumbledore you knew, the Dumbledore that matters. His past is the past." Said Hazel. "You're right. You're always right." He said, sounding slightly unsure but sincere. "I'm hungry, let join Hermione and Ron for breakfast." Said Hazel. They left the room, and started down the stairs. Hazel suddenly realized Harry wasn't with her.  
"Hazel,” he said, suddenly. “Come back up here.”  
“What’s the matter?”  
“R.A.B. I think I’ve found him.” There was a gasp, and then Hazel ran back up the stairs. “In your mum’s letter? But I didn’t see —”Harry shook his head, pointing at a sign that read: Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. "Yeah, Sirius's brother, he always was said to be a-." Then she clutched Harry’s arm so tightly that he winced. “NO! really?!”she whispered. “He was a Death Eater,” said Harry, “Sirius told me about him, he joined up when he was really young and then got cold feet and tried to leave —so they killed him.”  
"I know, they were my cousins Harry. But, they were never talked about much in my family...” said Hazel. "So, he was a Death Eater he had access to Voldemort, and if he became disenchanted, then he would have wanted to bring Voldemort down!”She released Harry, leaned over the banister, and screamed, “HERMIONE! RON! Get up here, quick!” Ron, and Hermione appeared, panting, a minute later, their wands ready in his hand. “What’s up? If it’s massive spiders again I want breakfast before I —” He frowned at the sign on Regulus’s door, to which Hazel was silently pointing. “What? That was Sirius’s brother, wasn’t it? Regulus Arcturus . . . Regulus . . . R.A.B.! The locket —you don’t reckon —?” Ron thought aloud.  
"No way!" Exclaimed Hermione. “Let’s find out,”said Harry. He pushed the door: It was locked. Hermione pointed her wand at the handle and said, “Alohomora.”There was a click, and the door swung open. They moved over the threshold together, gazing around. Regulus’s bedroom was slightly smaller than Sirius’s, though it had the same sense of former grandeur. Whereas Sirius had sought to advertise his difference from the rest of the family, Regulus had striven to emphasize the opposite. The Slytherin colors of emerald and silver were everywhere, draping the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, TOUJOURS PUR. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them. “They’re all about Voldemort,”she said. “Regulus seems to have been a fan for a few years before he joined the Death Eaters. . . .”A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read the clippings. Hazel, meanwhile, had noticed another photograph; a Hogwarts Quidditch team was smiling and waving out of the frame, she looked to her left, Harry was staring at it too. She moved closer and saw the snakes emblazoned on their chests: Slytherins. Regulus was instantly recognizable as the boy sitting in the middle of the front row: He had the same dark hair and slightly haughty look of his brother, though he was smaller, slighter, and rather less handsome than Sirius had been. “He played Seeker,”said Harry. “What?”said Hermione vaguely; she was still immersed in Voldemort’s press clippings. “He’s sitting in the middle of the front row, that’s where the Seeker . . . Never mind,”said Harry. Hazel gave Harry an apologetic smile, he didn't return it, Harry looked around the room. Hazel sighed and walked about the room, looking for a gliding place, somewhere enough to his something. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers’ contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there: old quills, out-of-date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer. “There’s an easier way,”said Hermione, as Harry wiped his inky fingers on his jeans. She raised her wand and said, “Accio Locket!”Nothing happened. Hazel snorted. "You think you could do better?!" Snapped Hermione. "Hermione, relaxed. There could be lots of reasons it didn't turn up. I was laughing at this photograph. Please, turning on each other is the last thing we need." Said Hazel. Hermione mutter something sarcastically, then turned away. Ron, who had been searching the folds of the faded curtains, looked disappointed. “Is that it, then? It’s not here?”  
"Oh, it could still be here, but under counter-enchantments,”said Hermione. “Charms to prevent it being summoned magically, you know.”  
“Like Voldemort put on the stone basin in the cave,”said Harry, remembering how he had been unable to Summon the fake locket. “How are we supposed to find it then?” asked Ron. “We search manually,”said Hermione. “That’s a good idea,” said Ron, rolling his eyes, and he resumed his examination of the curtains. They combed every inch of the room for more than an hour, but were forced, finally, to conclude that the locket was not there. The sun had risen now; its light dazzled them even through the grimy landing windows. “It could be somewhere else in the house, though,”said Hermione in a rallying tone as they walked back downstairs: As Haze, Harry and Ron had become more discouraged, she seemed to have become more determined. “Whether he’d managed to destroy it or not, he’d want to keep it hidden from Voldemort, wouldn’t he? Remember all those awful things we had to get rid of when we were here last time? That clock that shot bolts at everyone and those old robes that tried to strangle Ron; Regulus might have put them there to protect the locket’s hiding place, even though we didn’t realize it at . . . at . . .” Harry, Hazel and Ron looked at her. She was standing with one foot in midair, with the dumbstruck look of one who had just been Obliviated; her eyes had even drifted out of focus. “. . . at the time,” she finished in a whisper. “Something wrong?”asked Ron. “There was a locket.”  
“What?”said Harry, Hazel. and Ron together. “In the cabinet in the drawing room. Nobody could open it. And we . . . we . . .” Hazel suddenly felt as though a brick had slid down through her chest into her stomach. She remembered: she had even handled the thing as they passed it around, each trying in turn to prise it open. It had been tossed into a sack of rubbish, along with the snuffbox of Wartcap powder and the music box that had made everyone sleepy. . . . “Kreacher nicked loads of things back from us,”said Harry. It was the only chance, the only slender hope left to them, and he was going to cling to it until forced to let go. “He had a whole stash of stuff in his cupboard in the kitchen. C’mon.” He ran down the stairs taking two steps at a time, the other three thundering along in his wake. They made so much noise that they woke the portrait of Sirius’s mother as they passed through the hall. “Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!”she screamed after them as they dashed down into the basement kitchen and slammed the door behind them. Harry ran the length of the room, skidded to a halt at the door of Kreacher’s cupboard, and wrenched it open. There was the nest of dirty old blankets in which the house-elf had once slept, but they were no longer glittering with the trinkets Kreacher had salvaged. The only thing there was an old copy of Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy. Refusing to believe his eyes, Harry snatched up the blankets and shook them. A dead mouse fell out and rolled dismally across the floor. Ron groaned as he threw himself into a kitchen chair; Hermione closed her eyes, Hazel picked up the mouse sadly and put it in a wastebin. “It’s not over yet,”said Harry, and he raised his voice and called, “Kreacher!”There was a loud crack and the house-elf that Harry had so reluctantly inherited from Sirius appeared out of nowhere in front of the cold and empty fireplace: tiny, half human-sized, his pale skin hanging off him in folds, white hair sprouting copiously from his batlike ears. He was still wearing the filthy rag in which they had first met him, and the contemptuous look he bent upon Harry showed that his attitude to his change of ownership had altered no more than his outfit. “Master,”croaked Kreacher in his bullfrog’s voice, and he bowed low, muttering to his knees, “back in my Mistress’s old house with the blood-traitor Weasley and the Mudblood's —”“I forbid you to call anyone ‘blood traitor’or ‘Mudblood,’”growled Harry.  
“I’ve got a question for you,”said Harry, his heart beating rather fast as he looked down at the elf, “and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?”  
“Yes, Master,”said Kreacher, bowing low again: Hazel saw his lips moving soundlessly, undoubtedly framing the insults he was now forbidden to utter. “Two years ago,” said Harry, “there was a big gold locket in the drawing room upstairs. We threw it out. Did you steal it back?” There was a moment’s silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look Harry full in the face. Then he said, “Yes.”  
“Where is it now?”asked Harry jubilantly as Ron and Hermione looked gleeful, Hazel turned her nose up at the elf. Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his next word. “Gone.”  
“Gone?”echoed Harry. “What do you mean, it’s gone?”The elf shivered. He swayed. “Kreacher,”said Harry fiercely, “I order you —”  
“Mundungus Fletcher,”croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. “Mundungus Fletcher stole it all: Miss Bella’s and Miss Cissy’s pictures, my Mistress’s gloves, the Order of Merlin, First Class, the goblets with the family crest, and —and —”Kreacher was gulping for air: His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream. “—and the locket, Master Regulus’s locket, Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!”  
Hazel and Harry reacted instinctively: As Kreacher lunged for the poker standing in the grate, he launched himself upon the elf, Hazel grabbed the poker and threw it across the table, and Harry jumped on Kreacher flattening him. Hermione’s scream mingled with Kreacher’s, but Harry bellowed louder than both of them: “Kreacher, I order you to stay still!” He felt the elf freeze and released him. Kreacher lay flat on the cold stone floor, tears gushing from his sagging eyes. “Harry, let him up!” Hermione whispered. “So he can beat himself up with the poker?”snorted Harry, kneeling beside the elf. “I don’t think so. Right, Kreacher, I want the truth: How do you know Mundungus Fletcher stole the locket?”  
“Kreacher saw him!”gasped the elf as tears poured over his snout and into his mouth full of graying teeth. “Kreacher saw him coming out of Kreacher’s cupboard with his hands full of Kreacher’s treasures. Kreacher told the sneak thief to stop, but Mundungus Fletcher laughed and r-ran. . . .”  
“You called the locket ‘Master Regulus’s,’” said Harry. “Why? Where did it come from? What did Regulus have to do with it? Kreacher, sit up and tell me everything you know about that locket, and everything Regulus had to do with it!” The elf sat up, curled into a ball, placed his wet face between his knees, and began to rock backward and forward. When he spoke, his voice was muffled but quite distinct in the silent, echoing kitchen. “Master Sirius ran away, good riddance, for he was a bad boy and broke my Mistress’s heart with his lawless ways. But Master Regulus had proper pride; he knew what was due to the name of Black and the dignity of his pure blood. For years he talked of the Dark Lord, who was going to bring the wizards out of hiding to rule the Muggles and the Muggle-borns . . . and when he was sixteen years old, Master Regulus joined the Dark Lord. So proud, so proud, so happy to serve . . . “And one day, a year after he had joined, Master Regulus came down to the kitchen to see Kreacher. Master Regulus always liked Kreacher. And Master Regulus said . . . he said . . ." The old elf rocked faster than ever. “. . . he said that the Dark Lord required an elf.”“Voldemort needed an elf?”Harry repeated, looking around at Ron and Hermione, who looked just as puzzled as he did. “Oh yes,” moaned Kreacher. “And Master Regulus had volunteered Kreacher. It was an honor, said Master Regulus, an honor for him and for Kreacher, who must be sure to do whatever the Dark Lord ordered him to do . . . and then to c-come home.” Kreacher rocked still faster, his breath coming in sobs. “So Kreacher went to the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord did not tell Kreacher what they were to do, but took Kreacher with him to a cave beside the sea. And beyond the cave there was a cavern, and in the cavern was a great black lake . . .” The hairs on the back of Hazel’s neck stood up. She looked over at Harry, who looked right back at her. “. . . There was a boat . . . “There was a b-basin full of potion on the island. The D-Dark Lord made Kreacher drink it. . . .”The elf quaked from head to foot. “Kreacher drank, and as he drank, he saw terrible things . . . . Kreacher’s insides burned . . . Kreacher cried for Master Regulus to save him, he cried for his Mistress Black, but the Dark Lord only laughed . . . He made Kreacher drink all the potion . . . He dropped a locket into the empty basin. . . . He filled it with more potion. “And then the Dark Lord sailed away, leaving Kreacher on the island. . . .” Hazel could see it happening. She watched Voldemort’s white, snakelike face vanishing into darkness, those red eyes fixed pitilessly on the thrashing elf whose death would occur within minutes, whenever he succumbed to the desperate thirst that the burning potion caused its victim. . . . But here, Hazel’s imagination could go no further, for she could not see how Kreacher had escaped. “Kreacher needed water, he crawled to the island’s edge and he drank from the black lake . . . and hands, dead hands, came out of the water and dragged Kreacher under the surface. . . .”  
“How did you get away?” Harry asked. Kreacher raised his ugly head and looked at Harry with his great, bloodshot eyes. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,”he said. “I know —but how did you escape the Inferi?”Kreacher did not seem to understand. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back,” he repeated. “I know, but —  
“Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it, Harry?”said Ron. “He Disapparated!” Exclaimed Hazel. “But . . . you couldn’t Apparate in and out of that cave,”said Harry, “otherwise Dumbledore —”  
“Elf magic isn’t like wizard’s magic, is it?” said Ron. “I mean, they can Apparate and Disapparate in and out of Hogwarts when we can’t.”  
“Of course, Voldemort would have considered the ways of house-elves far beneath his notice, just like all the purebloods who treat them like animals . . . It would never have occurred to him that they might have magic that he didn’t.”  
“The house-elf’s highest law is his Master’s bidding,”intoned Kreacher. “Kreacher was told to come home, so Kreacher came home. . . .”  
“Well, then, you did what you were told, didn’t you?”said Hermione kindly. “You didn’t disobey orders at all!” Kreacher shook his head, rocking as fast as ever. “So what happened when you got back?” Harry asked. “What did Regulus say when you told him what had happened?”  
“Master Regulus was very worried, very worried,”croaked Kreacher. “Master Regulus told Kreacher to stay hidden and not to leave the house. And then . . . it was a little while later . . . Master Regulus came to find Kreacher in his cupboard one night, and Master Regulus was strange, not as he usually was, disturbed in his mind, Kreacher could tell . . . and he asked Kreacher to take him to the cave, the cave where Kreacher had gone with the Dark Lord. . . .”And so they had set off. Hazel could visualize them quite clearly, the frightened old elf and the thin, dark Seeker who had so resembled Sirius. . . . Kreacher knew how to open the concealed entrance to the underground cavern, knew how to raise the tiny boat; this time it was his beloved Regulus who sailed with him to the island with its basin of poison. . .  
“And he made you drink the potion?”said Harry, disgusted. But Kreacher shook his head and wept. Hermione’s hands leapt to her mouth: She seemed to have understood something. “M-Master Regulus took from his pocket a locket like the one the Dark Lord had,” said Kreacher, tears pouring down either side of his snoutlike nose. “And he told Kreacher to take it and, when the basin was empty, to switch the lockets. . . .” Kreacher’s sobs came in great rasps now; Hazel had to concentrate hard to understand him. “And he ordered —Kreacher to leave —without him. And he told Kreacher —to go home —and never to tell my Mistress —what he had done —but to destroy —the first locket. And he drank —all the potion —and Kreacher swapped the lockets —and watched . . . as Master Regulus . . . was dragged beneath the water . . . and . . .”  
“Oh, Kreacher!” wailed Hermione, who was crying. She dropped to her knees beside the elf and tried to hug him. At once he was on his feet, cringing away from her, quite obviously repulsed. “The Mudblood touched Kreacher, he will not allow it, what would his Mistress say?”  
"DON'T YOU DARE!" Yelled Hazel.  
“I told you not to call her ‘Mudblood’!” snarled Harry, but the elf was already punishing himself: He fell to the ground and banged his forehead on the floor. “Stop him —stop him!” Hermione cried. “Oh, don’t you see now how sick it is, the way they’ve got to obey?”“Kreacher —stop, stop!” shouted Harry. The elf lay on the floor, panting and shivering, green mucus glistening around his snout, a bruise already blooming on his pallid forehead where he had struck himself, his eyes swollen and bloodshot and swimming in tears. Haz had never seen anything so pitiful. “So you brought the locket home,” he said relentlessly, for he was determined to know the full story. “And you tried to destroy it?”  
“Nothing Kreacher did made any mark upon it,”moaned the elf. “Kreacher tried everything, everything he knew, but nothing, nothing would work. . . . So many powerful spells upon the casing, Kreacher was sure the way to destroy it was to get inside it, but it would not open. . . . Kreacher punished himself, he tried again, he punished himself, he tried again. Kreacher failed to obey orders, Kreacher could not destroy the locket! And his Mistress was mad with grief, because Master Regulus had disappeared, and Kreacher could not tell her what had happened, no, because Master Regulus had f-f-forbidden him to tell any of the f-f-family what happened in the c-cave. . . ”  
Hazel looked down at the elf, she was sickened. Kreacher began to sob so hard that there were no more coherent words. Tears flowed down Hermione’s cheeks as she watched Kreacher, but she did not dare touch him again. Even Ron, who was no fan of Kreacher’s, looked troubled. Harry sat back on his heels and shook his head, trying to clear it. “I don’t understand you, Kreacher,” he said finally. “Voldemort tried to kill you, Regulus died to bring Voldemort down, but you were still happy to betray Sirius to Voldemort? You were happy to go to Narcissa and Bellatrix, and pass information to Voldemort through them. . . .”  
“Harry, Kreacher doesn’t think like that,” said Hermione, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “He’s a slave; house-elves are used to bad, even brutal treatment; what Voldemort did to Kreacher wasn’t that far out of the common way. What do wizard wars mean to an elf like Kreacher? He’s loyal to people who are kind to him, and Mrs. Black must have been, and Regulus certainly was, so he served them willingly and parroted their beliefs. I know what you’re going to say,” she went on as Harry began to protest, “that Regulus changed his mind . . . but he doesn’t seem to have explained that to Kreacher, does he? And I think I know why. Kreacher and Regulus’s family were all safer if they kept to the old pure-blood line. Regulus was trying to protect them all.”  
“Sirius —”  
“Sirius was horrible to Kreacher, Harry, and it’s no good looking like that, you know it’s true. Kreacher had been alone for a long time when Sirius came to live here, and he was probably starving for a bit of affection. I’m sure ‘Miss Cissy’ and ‘Miss Bella’ were perfectly lovely to Kreacher when he turned up, so he did them a favor and told them everything they wanted to know. I’ve said all along that wizards would pay for how they treat house-elves. Well, Voldemort did . . . and so did Sirius.” Harry had no retort.  
“Kreacher,”said Harry after a while, “when you feel up to it, er . . . please sit up.” It was several minutes before Kreacher hiccuped himself into silence. Then he pushed himself into a sitting position again, rubbing his knuckles into his eyes like a small child. “Kreacher, I am going to ask you to do something,”said Harry. He glanced at Hermione for assistance. He wanted to give the order kindly, but at the same time, he could not pretend that it was not an order. However, the change in his tone seemed to have gained her approval: She smiled encouragingly. “Kreacher, I want you, please, to go and find Mundungus Fletcher. We need to find out where the locket —where Master Regulus’s locket is. It’s really important. We want to finish the work Master Regulus started, we want to —er —ensure that he didn’t die in vain.” Kreacher dropped his fists and looked up at Harry. “Find Mundungus Fletcher?” he croaked. “And bring him here, to Grimmauld Place,” said Harry. “Do you think you could do that for us?” As Kreacher nodded and got to his feet, Harry had a sudden inspiration. He pulled out Hagrid’s purse and took out the fake Horcrux, the substitute locket in which Regulus had placed the note to Voldemort. “Kreacher, I’d, er, like you to have this,” he said, pressing the locket into the elf’s hand. “This belonged to Regulus and I’m sure he’d want you to have it as a token of gratitude for what you —”  
“Overkill, mate,” said Ron as the elf took one look at the locket, let out a howl of shock and misery, and threw himself back onto the ground. It took them nearly half an hour to calm down Kreacher, who was so overcome to be presented with a Black family heirloom for his very own that he was too weak at the knees to stand properly. When finally he was able to totter a few steps they all accompanied him to his cupboard, watched him tuck up the locket safely in his dirty blankets, and assured him that they would make its protection their first priority while he was away. He then made two low bows to Harry and Ron, and even gave a funny little spasm in Hermione’s and Hazel's direction that might have been an attempt at a respectful salute, before Disapparating with the usual loud crack. "Ugh." Mumbled Hazel, turning to leave the room. "I don't want to say I hate that elf, but I do." Ron and Harry sniggered, but Hermione gave a disapproving look. "Now, about thay breakfast." 

 

Kreacher did not return the following day, nor the day after that. However, two cloaked men had appeared in the square outside number twelve, and they remained there into the night, gazing in the direction of the house that they could not see. “Death Eaters, for sure,”said Ron, as he, Harry, Hazel and Hermione watched from the drawing room windows. “Reckon they know we’re in here?” asked Hazel. “I don’t think so,”said Hermione, though she looked frightened, “or they’d have sent Snape in after us, wouldn’t they?”  
“D’you reckon he’s been in here and had his tongue tied by Moody’s curse?”asked Ron. “Yes,”said Hermione, “otherwise he’d have been able to tell that lot how to get in, wouldn’t he? But they’re probably watching to see whether we turn up. They know that Harry owns the house, after all.”  
“How do they —?”began Harry. “Wizarding wills are examined by the Ministry, remember? They’ll know Sirius left you the place.”  
Hazel let out a sickened growl, she thought of their less than friendly conversation with the minister. The presence of the Death Eaters outside increased the ominous mood inside number twelve. They had not heard a word from anyone beyond Grimmauld Place since Mr. Weasley’s Patronus, and the strain was starting to tell. Restless and irritable, Ron had developed an annoying habit of playing with the Deluminator in his pocket: This particularly infuriated Hermione, who was whiling away the wait for Kreacher by studying The Tales of Beedle the Bard and did not appreciate the way the lights kept flashing on and off. “Will you stop it!” she cried on the third evening of Kreacher’s absence, as all light was sucked from the drawing room yet again. “Sorry, sorry!” said Ron, clicking the Deluminator and restoring the lights. “I don’t know I’m doing it!”  
“Well, can’t you find something useful to occupy yourself?”  
“What, like reading kids’stories?”  
“Dumbledore left me this book, Ron —”  
“—and he left me the Deluminator, maybe I’m supposed to use it!”Unable to stand the bickering, Harry, and Hazel nodded to each other then slipped out of the room unnoticed by either of them. "All they do is fight anymore." Commented Hazel. "I know... here, let's go this way." He said, pointing down the hall. They headed downstairs toward the kitchen, which they kept visiting because they were sure that was where Kreacher was most likely to reappear. Halfway down the flight of stairs into the hall, however, they heard a tap on the front door, then metallic clicks and the grinding of the chain. Every nerve in their body seemed to tauten: she pulled out his wand, moved into the shadows, clutching Harry's hand, beside the decapitated elf heads, and waited. The door opened: Sh saw a glimpse of the lamplit square outside, and a cloaked figure edged into the hall and closed the door behind it. The intruder took a step forward, and Moody’s voice asked, “Severus Snape?”Then the dust figure rose from the end of the hall and rushed him, raising its dead hand. “It was not I who killed you, Albus,”said a quiet voice. The jinx broke: The dust-figure exploded again, and it was impossible to make out the newcomer through the dense gray cloud it left behind. Hazel pointed her wand into the middle of it. “Don’t move!” Said Harry. "And drop your wand!" Added Hazel. She had forgotten the portrait of Mrs. Black: At the sound of his yell, the curtains hiding her flew open and she began to scream, “Mudbloods and filth dishonoring my house —” Ron and Hermione came crashing down the stairs behind Harry and Hazel, wands pointing, like theirs, at the unknown man now standing with his arms raised in the hall below. “Hold your fire, it’s me, Remus!”  
“Oh, thank goodness,” said Hermione weakly, pointing her wand at Mrs. Black instead; with a bang, the curtains swished shut again and silence fell. Ron too lowered his wand, but Harry and Hazel did not. “Show yourself!” he called back. "And identify." Said Hazel. Lupin moved forward into the lamplight, hands still held high in a gesture of surrender. “I am Remus John Lupin, werewolf, sometimes known as Moony, one of the four creators of the Marauder’s Map, married to Nymphadora, usually known as Tonks, and I taught you how to produce a Patronus, Harry, which takes the form of a stag.”  
“Oh, all right,” said Harry, lowering their wand, “but I had to check, didn’t I?”  
“Speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn’t be quite so quick to lower your defenses.” They ran down the stairs toward him. Wrapped in a thick black traveling cloak, he looked exhausted, but pleased to see them. “No sign of Severus, then?”he asked. “No,”said Harry. “What’s going on? Is everyone okay?” asked Hazel. “Yes,” said Lupin, “but we’re all being watched. There are a couple of Death Eaters in the square outside —”  
“We know —”  
“I had to Apparate very precisely onto the top step outside the front door to be sure that they would not see me. They can’t know you’re in here or I’m sure they’d have more people out there; they’re staking out everywhere that’s got any connection with you, Harry. Let’s go downstairs, there’s a lot to tell you, and I want to know what happened after you left the Burrow.”They descended into the kitchen, where Hermione pointed her wand at the grate. A fire sprang up instantly: It gave the illusion of coziness to the stark stone walls and glistened off the long wooden table. Hazel pulled a large steel kettle out of the cupboard and filled it with water, then setting it on the old gas stove. “I’d have been here three days ago but I needed to shake off the Death Eater tailing me,”said Lupin. “So, you came straight here after the wedding?”  
“No,” said Harry, “only after we ran into a couple of Death Eaters in a café on Tottenham Court Road.”Lupin began to choke on the biscuit he had just taken a bit of. “What?” They explained what had happened; when they had finished, Lupin looked aghast, his tea Hazel had poured had now gone cold. “But how did they find you so quickly? It’s impossible to track anyone who Apparates, unless you grab hold of them as they disappear!”  
“And it doesn’t seem likely they were just strolling down Tottenham Court Road at the time, does it?” said Harry. “We wondered,”said Hermione tentatively, “whether Harry could still have the Trace on him?”“Impossible,” said Lupin. Ron looked smug, and Harry felt hugely relieved. Hazel on the other hand didnt look too sure. “Apart from anything else, they’d know for sure Harry was here if he still had the Trace on him, wouldn’t they? But I can’t see how they could have tracked you to Tottenham Court Road, that’s worrying, really worrying.” He looked disturbed “Tell us what happened after we left, we haven’t heard a thing since Ron’s dad told us the family were safe.”  
“Well, Kingsley saved us,”said Lupin. “Thanks to his warning most of the wedding guests were able to Disapparate before they arrived.”  
“Were they Death Eaters or Ministry people?” interjected Hermione. “A mixture; but to all intents and purposes they’re the same thing now,”said Lupin. “There were about a dozen of them, but they didn’t know you were there, Harry. Arthur heard a rumor that they tried to torture your whereabouts out of Scrimgeour before they killed him; if it’s true, he didn’t give you away." Hazel looked at Ron, Harry, and Hermione; their expressions reflected the mingled shock and gratitude she felt. she had never liked Scrimgeour much, but if what Lupin said was true, the man’s final act had been to try to protect Harry, and right now she couldn't ever like him more. “The Death Eaters searched the Burrow from top to bottom,”Lupin went on. “They found the ghoul, but didn’t want to get too close —and then they interrogated those of us who remained for hours. They were trying to get information on you, Harry, but of course nobody apart from the Order knew that you had been there. “At the same time that they were smashing up the wedding, more Death Eaters were forcing their way into every Order-connected house in the country. No deaths,” he added quickly, forestalling the question, “but they were rough. They burned down Dedalus Diggle’s house, but as you know he wasn’t there, and they used the Cruciatus Curse on Tonks’s family-." He was cut off by Hazel bursting into tears. Harry jumped out of his seat and hugged her. "Are-Are they all right?" Asked Hazel, worriedly. "YES! Oh, they’re all right —shaken, obviously, but otherwise okay.”  
“The Death Eaters got through all those protective charms?”Harry asked, remembering how effective these had been on the night he had crashed in Tonks’s parents’garden. “What you’ve got to realize, Harry, is that the Death Eaters have got the full might of the Ministry on their side now,” said Lupin. “They’ve got the power to perform brutal spells without fear of identification or arrest. They managed to penetrate every defensive spell we’d cast against them, and once inside, they were completely open about why they’d come.”  
“And are they bothering to give an excuse for torturing Harry’s whereabouts out of people?”asked Hermione, an edge to her voice. “Well,” said Lupin. He hesitated, then pulled out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. “Here,” he said, pushing it across the table to Harry, “you’ll know sooner or later anyway. That’s their pretext for going after you.”Harry smoothed out the paper. A huge photograph of his face filled the front page. Hazel read the headline over it: WANTED FOR QUESTIONING ABOUT THE DEATH OF ALBUS DUMBLEDORE Ron and Hermione gave roars of outrage, but Harry said nothing. He pushed the newspaper away. Hazel looked at him, she knew nobody but those who had been on top of the tower when Dumbledore died knew who had really killed him and, as Rita Skeeter had already told the Wizarding world, Harry had been seen running from the place moments after Dumbledore had fallen. “I’m sorry, Harry,” Lupin said. “So Death Eaters have taken over the Daily Prophet too?” asked Hermione furiously. Lupin nodded. “But surely people realize what’s going on?” Asked Hazel  
“The coup has been smooth and virtually silent,” said Lupin. “The official version of Scrimgeour’s murder is that he resigned; he has been replaced by Pius Thicknesse, who is under the Imperius Curse.”  
“Why didn’t Voldemort declare himself Minister of Magic?” asked Ron. Lupin laughed, as did Hazel. “He doesn’t need to, Ron. Effectively he is the Minister, but why should he sit behind a desk at the Ministry? His puppet, Thicknesse, is taking care of everyday business, leaving Voldemort free to extend his power beyond the Ministry. “Naturally many people have deduced what has happened: There has been such a dramatic change in Ministry policy in the last few days, and many are whispering that Voldemort must be behind it. However, that is the point: They whisper. They daren’t confide in each other, not knowing whom to trust; they are scared to speak out, in case their suspicions are true and their families are targeted. Yes, Voldemort is playing a very clever game. Declaring himself might have provoked open rebellion: Remaining masked has created confusion, uncertainty, and fear.”  
“And this dramatic change in Ministry policy,”said Harry, “involves warning the Wizarding world against me instead of Voldemort?”  
“That’s certainly part of it,” said Lupin, “and it is a masterstroke. Now that Dumbledore is dead, you —the Boy Who Lived —were sure to be the symbol and rallying point for any resistance to Voldemort. But by suggesting that you had a hand in the old hero’s death, Voldemort has not only set a price upon your head, but sown doubt and fear amongst many who would have defended you. “Meanwhile, the Ministry has started moving against Muggle-borns.”Lupin pointed at the Daily Prophet. “Look at page two.”Hermione turned the pages with much the same expression of distaste she had worn when handling Secrets of the Darkest Art. “‘Muggle-born Register,’”she read aloud. Hazel hissed angrily at the words, she instantly knew what it meant. “‘The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called “Muggle-borns,” the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets. “‘Recent research undertaken,'" she read aloud. “‘The Ministry of Magic is undertaking a survey of so-called “Muggle-borns,”the better to understand how they came to possess magical secrets. “‘Recent research undertaken by the Department of Mysteries reveals that magic can only be passed from person to person when Wizards reproduce. Where no proven Wizarding ancestry exists, therefore, the so-called Muggle-born is likely to have obtained magical power by theft or force. “‘The Ministry is determined to root out such usurpers of magical power, and to this end has issued an invitation to every so-called Muggle-born to present themselves for interview by the newly appointed Muggle-born Registration Commission.’”  
"THAT'S DISGRACEFUL!" Roared Hazel.  
“People won’t let this happen,”said Ron. “It is happening, Ron,” said Lupin. “Muggle-borns are being rounded up as we speak.”  
“But how are they supposed to have ‘stolen’magic?”said Ron. “It’s mental, if you could steal magic there wouldn’t be any Squibs, would there?”  
“I know,”said Lupin. “Nevertheless, unless you can prove that you have at least one close Wizarding relative, you are now deemed to have obtained your magical power illegally and must suffer the punishment.”Ron glanced at Hermione, then to Hazel then said, “What if purebloods and half-bloods swear a Muggle-born’s part of their family? I’ll tell everyone Hermione’s, my cousin and Hazel's her sister —”  
"Ron, I have wizards in my blood. I will be ok, just worry about 'Mione." Said Hazel. Hermione covered Ron’s hand with hers and squeezed it. “Thank you, Ron, but I couldn’t let you —”  
“You won’t have a choice,” said Ron fiercely, gripping her hand back. “I’ll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it.” Hermione gave a shaky laugh. “Ron, as we’re on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don’t think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different. What’s Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?” she asked Lupin. “Attendance is now compulsory for every young witch and wizard,” he replied. “That was announced yesterday. It’s a change, because it was never obligatory before. Of course, nearly every witch and wizard in Britain has been educated at Hogwarts, but their parents had the right to teach them at home or send them abroad if they preferred. This way, Voldemort will have the whole Wizarding population under his eye from a young age. And it’s also another way of weeding out Muggle-borns, because students must be given Blood Status —meaning that they have proven to the Ministry that they are of Wizard descent —before they are allowed to Hazel felt sickened and angry: At this moment, excited eleven-year-olds would be poring over stacks of newly purchased spellbooks, unaware that they would never see Hogwarts, perhaps never see their families again either. “It’s . . . it’s . . .” Harry muttered, but Lupin said quietly, “I know.” Lupin hesitated. “I’ll understand if you can’t confirm this, Harry, but the Order is under the impression that Dumbledore left you a mission.”“He did,” Harry replied, “and Ron, Hazel, and Hermione are in on it and they’re coming with me.”  
“Can you confide in me what the mission is?” Harry looked into the prematurely lined face, framed in thick but graying hair, and wished that he could return a different answer. “I can’t, Remus, I’m sorry. If Dumbledore didn’t tell you I don’t think I can.”  
“I thought you’d say that,”said Lupin, looking disappointed. “But I might still be of some use to you. You know what I am and what I can do. I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to.”Harry hesitated. It was a very tempting offer, though how they would be able to keep their mission secret from Lupin if he were with them all the time She could not imagine. Hermione, however, looked puzzled. “But what about Tonks?”she asked. “What about her?”said Lupin. “Well,” said Hermione, frowning, “you’re married! How does she feel about you going away with us?”  
“Tonks will be perfectly safe,”said Lupin. “She’ll be at her parents’ house.”There was something strange in Lupin’s tone; it was almost cold. There was also something odd in the idea of Tonks remaining hidden at her parents’ house; she was, after all, a member of the Order, and Hazel knew, was likely to want to be in the thick of the action. “Remus,”said Hermione tentatively, “is everything all right . . . you know . . . between you and —”  
“Everything is fine, thank you,”said Lupin pointedly. Hermione turned pink. There was another pause, an awkward and embarrassed one, and then Lupin said, with an air of forcing himself to admit something unpleasant, “Tonks is going to have a baby.”“Oh, how wonderful!”squealed Hermione. “Excellent!”said Ron enthusiastically. “Congratulations,”said Harry. Hazel was suddenly speachless, her cousin was having a baby, a baby, she was having a baby. "OH REMUS!" Cried Hazel, excitedly. Lupin gave an artificial smile that was more like a grimace, then said, “So . . . do you accept my offer? Will four become five? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all. And I must tell you that I believe that we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined.”Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry and Hazel, still bunched together. “Just —just to be clear,” he said. “You want to leave Tonks at her parents’ house and come away with us?”“She’ll be perfectly safe there, they’ll look after her,”said Lupin. He spoke with a finality bordering on indifference. “Harry, I’m sure James would have wanted me to stick with you.”  
“Well,” said Harry slowly, “I’m not. I’m pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren’t sticking with your own kid, actually.”Lupin’s face drained of color. The temperature in the kitchen might have dropped ten degrees. Ron stared around the room as though he had been bidden to memorize it, while Hermione’s eyes swiveled backward and forward from Harry to Lupin. “You don’t understand,” said Lupin at last. “Explain, then,”said Harry. Lupin swallowed. “I —I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and I have regretted it very much ever since.” Hazel gasped, suddenly heat rose in her face  
“I see,” said Harry, “so you’re just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?” Lupin sprang to his feet: His chair toppled over backward, and he glared at them so fiercely that Hazel saw, for the first time ever, the shadow of the wolf upon his human face. “Don’t you understand what I’ve done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her, I’ve made her an outcast!” Lupin kicked aside the chair he had overturned. “You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don’t you see what I’ve done? Even her own family is disgusted by our marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child —the child —” Lupin actually seized handfuls of his own hair; he looked quite deranged. “My kind don’t usually breed! It will be like me, I am convinced of it —how can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!”  
“Remus!” whispered Hermione, tears in her eyes. “Don’t say that —how could any child be ashamed of you?”  
“Oh, I don’t know, Hermione,”said Harry. “I’d be pretty ashamed of him.”  
Hazel clapped her hand over Harry's mouth, he then quickly pried if off, glaring at her, then to Lupin. “If the new regime thinks Muggle-borns are bad,”Harry said, “what will they do to a half-werewolf whose father’s in the Order? My father died trying to protect my mother and me, and you reckon he’d tell you to abandon your kid to go on an adventure with us?”“How —how dare you?” said Lupin. “This is not about a desire for —for danger or personal glory —how dare you suggest such a —”  
“I think you’re feeling a bit of a daredevil,” Harry said. “You fancy stepping into Sirius’s shoes —”  
“Harry, no!” Hermione begged him, but he continued to glare into Lupin’s livid face. "Harry, Harry, stop now. Harry!" Exclaimed Hazel. “I’d never have believed this,”Harry said. “The man who taught me to fight dementors —a coward.” Lupin drew his wand so fast that Harry had barely reached for his own; there was a loud bang and he felt himself flying backward as if punched; as he slammed into the kitchen wall and slid to the floor, he glimpsed the tail of Lupin’s cloak disappearing around the door. Hazel drew her wand and ran after Remus. "REMUS!" Yelled Hazel. He stopped, and turned, his face red, anger mixed with shame. "REMUS, DON'T YOU EVER ATTACK HARRY AGAIN, OR YOU CAN BET YOUR GOD DAMN LIFE YOU WON'T GET AWAY WITH LESS THAN A BROKEN LEG!" Roared Hazel at the top of her lungs. He didn't respond, he just glared at her, then he dissaperated. Hazel growled then walked back go the kitchen, Harry was on the gound. “Don’t look at me like that!”he snapped at Hermione. “Don’t you start on her!” snarled Ron. "Back down Ron!" Hissed Hazel. He turned to her about to respond. "No —no —we mustn’t fight!”said Hermione, launching herself between them. “You shouldn’t have said that stuff to Lupin,” Ron told Harry. “He had it coming to him,”said Harry. “Parents,”said Harry, “shouldn’t leave their kids unless —unless they’ve got to.”  
“Harry —”said Hermione, stretching out a consoling hand, but he shrugged it off and walked away, his eyes on the fire Hermione had conjured. "Your right. Your right." Said Hazel, she followed him, they stood looking at the fire. Neither Ron nor Hermione spoke, but Hazel felt sure that they were looking at each other behind his back, communicating silently. Hazel held his hands, he half hers back. She wondered if holding his hand was for making him feel better, or her, she wasn't sure, but it did give her comfort. Harry and Hazel turned around and caught them turning hurriedly away from each other. “I know I shouldn’t have called him a coward.”  
“No, you shouldn’t,” said Ron at once. “But he’s acting like one.”  
“All the same . . .” said Hermione. “I know,” said Harry. “But if it makes him go back to Tonks, it’ll be worth it, won’t it?” Hermione looked sympathetic, Ron uncertain. "Yes, it would. It most certainly would." Said Hazel. The silent kitchen seemed to hum with the shock of the recent scene and with Ron and Hermione’s unspoken reproaches. The Daily Prophet Lupin had brought was still lying on the table, Harry’s face staring up at the ceiling from the front page. He walked over to it and sat down, opened the paper to read. There was solence for a very long time, but it was broken when a deafening crack echoed around the kitchen. For the first time in three days Hazel had forgotten all about Kreacher. Her immediate thought was that Lupin had burst back into the room, and for a split second, She did not take in the mass of struggling limbs that had appeared out of thin air right beside his chair. Then she, and Harry hurried to his feet as Kreacher disentangled himself and, bowing low to Harry, croaked, “Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher, Master.”Mundungus scrambled up and pulled out his wand; Hermione, however, was too quick for him. “Expelliarmus!”Mundungus’s wand soared into the air, and Hazel caught it. Wild-eyed, Mundungus dived for the stairs: Ron rugby-tackled him and Mundungus hit the stone floor with a muffled crunch. “What?”he bellowed, writhing in his attempts to free himself from Ron’s grip. “Wha’ve I done? Setting a bleedin’ ’ouse-elf on me, what are you playing at, wha’ve I done, lemme go, lemme go, or —"  
“You’re not in much of a position to make threats,”said Harry. He threw aside the newspaper, crossed the kitchen in a few strides, and dropped to his knees beside Mundungus, who stopped struggling and looked terrified. Hazel kept her wand pointed at him, his big eyes full of worry. Ron got up, panting, and watched as Harry pointed his wand deliberately at Mundungus’s nose. Mundungus stank of stale sweat and tobacco smoke: His hair was matted and his robes stained. "Revolting." Mumbled Hazel. "HEY! You watch it, or I'll-."  
"Dont!" Hissed Harry.  
“Kreacher apologizes for the delay in bringing the thief, Master,” croaked the elf. “Fletcher knows how to avoid capture, has many hidey-holes and accomplices. Nevertheless, Kreacher cornered the thief in the end.”“You’ve done really well, Kreacher,” said Harry, and the elf bowed low. “Right, we’ve got a few questions for you,” Harry told Mundungus, who shouted at once, “I panicked, okay? I never wanted to come along, no offense, mate, but I never volunteered to die for you, an’ that was bleedin’ You-Know-Who come flying at me, anyone woulda got outta there, I said all along I didn’t wanna do it —”  
“For your information, none of the rest of us Disapparated,”said Hermione. “Well, you’re a bunch of bleedin’ ’eroes then, aren’t you, but I never pretended I was up for killing meself —”  
“We’re not interested in why you ran out on Mad-Eye,”said Harry, moving his wand a little closer to Mundungus’s baggy, bloodshot eyes. “We already knew you were an unreliable bit of scum.” Said Hazel, angrily.  
“Well then, why the ’ell am I being ’unted down by ’ouse-elves? Or is this about them goblets again? I ain’t got none of ’em left, or you could ’ave ’em —”“It’s not about the goblets either, although you’re getting warmer,”said Harry. “Shut up and listen.”  
“When you cleaned out this house of anything valuable,” Harry began, but Mundungus interrupted him again. “Sirius never cared about any of the junk —”There was the sound of pattering feet, a blaze of shining copper, an echoing clang, and a shriek of agony: Kreacher had taken a run at Mundungus and hit him over the head with a saucepan. “Call ’im off, call ’im off, ’e should be locked up!”screamed Mundungus, cowering as Kreacher raised the heavy-bottomed pan again. “Kreacher, no!”shouted Harry. Kreacher’s thin arms trembled with the weight of the pan, still held aloft. “Perhaps just one more, Master Harry, for luck?” Ron, Hazel laughed. “We need him conscious, Kreacher, but if he needs persuading you can do the honors,”said Harry. “Thank you very much, Master,”said Kreacher with a bow, and he retreated a short distance, his great pale eyes still fixed upon Mundungus with loathing. “When you stripped this house of all the valuables you could find,”Harry began again, “you took a bunch of stuff from the kitchen cupboard. There was a locket there.”“What did you do with it?”“Why?”asked Mundungus. “Is it valuable?”  
“You’ve still got it!” cried Hermione. “No, he hasn’t,”said Ron shrewdly. “He’s wondering whether he should have asked more money for it.”  
“More?”said Mundungus. “That wouldn’t have been effing difficult . . . bleedin’ gave it away, di’n’ I? No choice.”  
“What do you mean?” asked Hazel.  
“I was selling in Diagon Alley and she come up to me and asks if I’ve got a license for trading in magical artifacts. Bleedin’ snoop. She was gonna fine me, but she took a fancy to the locket an’ told me she’d take it and let me off that time, and to fink meself lucky.”  
“Who was this woman?” asked Harry. “I dunno, some Ministry hag.”Mundungus considered for a moment, brow wrinkled. “Little woman. Bow on top of ’er head.”He frowned and then added, “Looked like a toad.”Harry dropped his wand: It hit Mundungus on the nose and shot red sparks into his eyebrows, which ignited. “Aguamenti!”screamed Hermione, and a jet of water streamed from her wand, engulfing a spluttering and choking Mundungus. Hazel looked up and saw his own shock reflected in Ron’s, Harry's, and Hermione’s faces. The scars on the back of her left hand seemed to be tingling again.

 

As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shriveled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anybody in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The Muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen. And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat. The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed. On the first day of September, Hazel's birthday, there were more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to have seen something interesting. The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed. Meanwhile, inside number twelve, Harry and Hazel had just entered the hall. They had nearly lost their balance as they Apparated onto the top step just outside the front door. Shutting the front door carefully behind them, Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, draped it over his arm, and the pair hurried along the gloomy hallway toward the door that led to the basement, a stolen copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in Harry's hand. The usual low whisper of “Severus Snape?” greeted him, the chill wind swept them, and their tongues rolled up for a moment. “I didn’t kill you,” they said, once it had unrolled, then held their breath as the dusty jinx-figure exploded. They waited until they was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen, out of earshot of Mrs. Black and clear of the dust cloud, before Harry was calling, “I’ve got news, and you won’t like it.” The kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Every surface now shone: Copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow; the wooden tabletop gleamed; the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house-elf who now came hurrying toward Harry, dressed in a snowy-white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Regulus’s locket bouncing on his thin chest. “Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, And Mistress Hazel, and hands washed before dinner,” croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered. “What’s happened?” Ron asked apprehensively. He and Hermione had been poring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand-drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched Harry and Hazel as they strode toward them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment. A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read: SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER “No!” said Ron and Hermione loudly. Hermione was quickest; she snatched up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud, as Hazel stared at the picture gravely. “‘Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was today appointed headmaster in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. “‘I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values —’Like committing murder and cutting off people’s ears, I suppose! Snape, headmaster! Snape in Dumbledore’s study —Merlin’s pants!”she shrieked, making both Harry and Ron jump, and Hazel nearly drop her glass of water Kreacher had given her. Haz leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, “I’ll be back in a minute!”“‘Merlin’s pants’?”repeated Ron, looking amused. “She must be upset.” He pulled the newspaper toward him and perused the article about Snape. “The other teachers won’t stand for this. McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They won’t accept Snape as headmaster. And who are these Carrows?”  
“Death Eaters,” said Hazel and Harry. “There are pictures of them inside. They were at the top of the tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, so it’s all friends together. And,” Harry went on bitterly, drawing up a chair, “I can’t see that the other teachers have got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape it’ll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban —and that’s if they’re lucky. I reckon they’ll stay to try and protect the students.” Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large tureen in his hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so, then he set a sad looking cupcake topped with red icing in front of Hazel. “Thanks, Kreacher,” said Harry, flipping over the Prophet so as not to have to look at Snape’s face. "Awe! Thank you Kreacher!" Said Hazel, staring at the house elf, which she began to show a bit more affection for. "Master Harry asked that you have a treat to celebrate your eighteenth birthday." Said Kreacher. Hazel looked up at Harry, her green eyes sparkling. "Well thank you, both of you." Said Hazel, fondly. Kreacher bowed lowly and walked out. "Happy birthday." Said Harry, smiling. "Thank you!" She said. She looked at the lopsided treat, icing sliding off to the side. She took a bite and swallowed, it was grainy, and extremely sweet, it tasted faintly of salt and tin foil, and the dye Kreacher used to make the cake golden came off on her hand. She set down the red and gold cupcake. "God. It's ok, Kreacher's strong point isn't baking." Said Hazel. Harry smiled apologeticly. She smiled back. “Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now.” Said Ron, breaking the silence, as he began to spoon soup into his mouth. The quality of Kreacher’s cooking had improved dramatically ever since he had been given Regulus’s locket: Today’s French onion was as good as Hazel had ever tasted. “There are still a load of Death Eaters watching the house,” Harry told Ron as he ate, “more than usual. It’s like they’re hoping we’ll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express.”Ron glanced at his watch. “I’ve been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn’t it?”  
"Its the first time in six years I have actually wanted to be at the great feast." Hazel mumbled. Hazel thought about her first, and last great feast; she had just been put in Gryffindor, there was loads of.food everywhere, she was utterly overwhelmed, and felt sick. After that feast she joined the house elves in the kitchen for dinner, or sat in the front hall, waiting for her friends. She just now realized how wonderful it would have been, this last year, their last year at Hogwarts... but then her mind drifted to Snape, him looking out over the four tables, scowling, the great hall dark, people whispering quietly, afraid of being yelled at if they were too loud. She frowned, then thought of her friends... Luna, Neville, and Ginny, at their tables huddled together, wondering if Hazel, Hermione, Harry, and Ron where ok.  
“They nearly saw me coming back in just now,” Harry said. “I landed badly on the top step, and the Cloak slipped."  
“I do that every time. Oh, here she is,”Ron added, craning around in his seat to watch Hermione reentering the kitchen. “And what in the name of Merlin’s most baggy Y Fronts was that about?”“I remembered this,” Hermione panted. She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside, and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much else, into the bag’s capacious depths. “Phineas Nigellus,”Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash. “Sorry?” said Ron, but Hazel understood. The painted image of Phineas Nigellus Black was able to flit between his portrait in Grimmauld Place and the one that hung in the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts: the circular tower-top room where Snape was no doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Dumbledore’s collection of delicate, silver magical instruments, the stone Pensieve, the Sorting Hat and, unless it had been moved elsewhere, the sword of Gryffindor. “Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him,”Hermione explained to Ron as she resumed her seat. “But let him try it now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag.”  
“Good thinking!”said Ron, looking impressed. “Thank you,”smiled Hermione, pulling her soup toward her. “So, Harry, what else happened today?”  
“Nothing,”said Harry. “Hazel and I watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her. Saw your dad, though, Ron. He looks fine.”Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. They had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Mr. Weasley while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however, reassuring to catch these glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious. “Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work,” Ron said. “That’s why we haven’t seen Umbridge, she’d never walk, she’d think she’s too important.”  
“And what about that funny old witch and that little wizard in the navy robes?” Hermione asked. “Oh yeah, the bloke from Magical Maintenance,” said Ron.  
Hermione asked, her soupspoon suspended in midair. “Dad said everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy blue robes.”  
“But you never told us that!”Hermione dropped her spoon and pulled toward her the sheaf of notes and maps that she and Ron had been examining when Harry had entered the kitchen. “There’s nothing in here about navy blue robes, nothing!” she said, flipping feverishly through the pages. “Well, does it really matter?”  
“Ron, it all matters! If we’re going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves away when they’re bound to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters! We’ve been over and over this, I mean, what’s the point of all these reconnaissance trips if you aren’t even bothering to tell us —”  
“Blimey, Hermione, I forget one little thing —”  
“You do realize, don’t you, that there’s probably no more dangerous place in the whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of —”  
“I think we should do it tomorrow,”said Harry. Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Ron choked a little over his soup, Hazel smiled mischievously. “Tomorrow?” repeated Hermione. “You aren’t serious, Harry?”  
“I am,”said Harry. “I don’t think we’re going to be much better prepared than we are now even if we skulk around the Ministry entrance for another month. The longer we put it off, the farther away that locket could be. There’s already a good chance Umbridge has chucked it away; the thing doesn’t open.”  
“Unless,”said Ron, “she’s found a way of opening it and she’s now possessed.”  
“Wouldn’t make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place,” Harry shrugged. Hermione was biting her lip, deep in thought. “We know everything important,” Harry went on, addressing Hermione. “We know they’ve stopped Apparition in and out of the Ministry. We know only the most senior Ministry members are allowed to connect their homes to the Floo Network now, because Ron heard those two Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly where Umbridge’s office is, because of what you heard that bearded bloke saying to his mate —”“‘I’ll be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me,’”Hermione recited immediately. “Exactly,”said Harry. “And we know you get in using those funny coins, or tokens, or whatever they are, because I saw that witch borrowing one from her friend —”  
“But we haven’t got any!”  
“If the plan works, we will have,”Harry continued calmly. “I don’t know, Harry, I don’t know. . . . There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong, so much relies on chance. . . .”  
“That’ll be true even if we spend another three months preparing,”said Harry. “It’s time to act.” He could tell from Ron’s and Hermione’s faces that They had spent the previous four weeks taking it in turns to don the Invisibility Cloak, Hazel and Harry together, just in case, and spy on the official entrance to the Ministry, which Ron, thanks to Mr. Weasley, had known since childhood. They had tailed Ministry workers on their way in, eavesdropped on their conversations, and learned by careful observation which of them could be relied upon to appear, alone, at the same time every day. Occasionally there had been a chance to sneak a Daily Prophet out of somebody’s briefcase. Slowly they had built up the sketchy maps and notes now stacked in front of Hermione. “All right,”said Ron slowly, “let’s say we go for it tomorrow. . . . I think it should just be me and Harry.”  
“Oh, don’t start that again!” sighed Hermione. “I thought we’d settled this.”  
"RON! I'm coming, so is Hermione!" “It’s one thing hanging around the entrances under the Cloak, but this is different, Hermione.” Ron jabbed a finger at a copy of the Daily Prophet dated ten days previously. “You two on the list of Muggle-borns who didn’t present themselves for interrogation!”  
“And you’re supposed to be dying of spattergroit at the Burrow! If anyone shouldn’t go, it’s Harry, he’s got a ten-thousand-Galleon price on his head —”  
“Fine, I’ll stay here,” said Harry. “Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won’t Ron and Hermione laughed. Harry's hand jumped to his scar. Hermione’s eyes narrow, and he tried to pass off the movement by brushing his hair out of his eyes. “Well, if all four of us go we’ll have to Disapparate separately,”Ron was saying. “We can’t all fit under the Cloak anymore.” Harry stood up. At once, Kreacher hurried forward. “Master has not finished his soup, would Master prefer the savory stew, or else the treacle tart to which Master is so partial?”  
“Thanks, Kreacher, but I’ll be back in a minute —er —bathroom.”  
He bolted out of the room, and Hazel saw Hermione stare at him. "Excuse me." Said Hazel, slowly walking out the kitchen then running the rest of the way to the bathroom, she heard him fall to the floor. "Harry?" She asked. "Harry?" She asked again. Then there was a few yells of pain, coming from in the bathroom. Hazel's heart , she ripped out her wand and jumped against the door, it didn't move, she jumped against it again, still it didn't budge. "HARRY! HARRY! HARRY!?" She yelled, pounding on the door. Hermione and Ron appeared behind her, Hermione watched Hazel pound on the door. The door slowly opened a moment later, Hazel rushed forward and hugged him, then she backed up and smacked him. "YOU SCARED ME TO DEATH!" Yelled Hazel. "OW! S-sorry." Said Harry, sheepishly, rubbing Hazel's red handwriting she had left on his cheek. “What were you doing?” asked Hermione sternly. “What d’you think I was doing?” asked Harry. “You were yelling your head off!” said Ron. “Oh yeah . . . I must’ve dozed off or —”  
“Harry, please don’t insult our intelligence,”said Hermione, taking deep breaths. “We know your scar hurt downstairs, and you’re white as a sheet.”Harry sat down on the edge of the bath. “Fine. I’ve just seen Voldemort murdering a woman. By now he’s probably killed her whole family. And he didn’t need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just there. . . .”  
“Harry, you aren’t supposed to let this happen anymore!” Hermione cried, her voice echoing through the bathroom. “Dumbledore wanted you to use Occlumency! He thought the connection was dangerous —Voldemort can use it, Harry! What good is it to watch him kill and torture, how can it help?”  
“Because it means I know what he’s doing,” said Harry. “So you’re not even going to try to shut him out?”  
“Hermione, I can’t. You know I’m lousy at Occlumency, I never got the hang of it.”  
“You never really tried!” she said hotly. “I don’t get it, Harry —do you like having this special connection or relationship or what —whatever —” She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up. “Like it?” he said quietly. “Would you like it?” Hazel sat on the edge of the tub by Harry and hugged him again.  
“I —no —I’m sorry, Harry, I didn’t mean —”  
“I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he’s most dangerous. But I’m going to use it.”  
“Dumbledore —”  
“Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody else’s. I want to know why he’s after Gregorovitch.”  
“Who?”  
“He’s a foreign wandmaker,”said Harry. “He made Krum’s wand and Krum reckons he’s brilliant.”  
“But according to you,”said Ron, “Voldemort’s got Ollivander locked up somewhere. If he’s already got a wandmaker, what does he need another one for?”“Maybe he agrees with Krum, maybe he thinks Gregorovitch is better . . . or else he thinks Gregorovitch will be able to explain what my wand did when he was chasing me, because Ollivander didn’t know.” Harry glanced into the cracked, dusty mirror and saw Ron and Hermione exchanging skeptical looks behind his back. “Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did,” said Hermione, “but you made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?”“Because I know it wasn’t me! And so does Voldemort, Hermione! We both know what really happened!” They glared at each other. "Im sure it really did happened, Hermione you need to open your mind to new possibilities." Said Hazel. Hermione changed her attention to Hazel, she glared at her, unable to repspond. To Hazel's relief, Ron intervened. “Drop it,” he advised Hermione. “It’s up to him. And if we’re going to the Ministry tomorrow, don’t you reckon we should go over the plan?” Reluctantly, as the other three could tell, Hermione let the matter rest. In the meantime, they returned to the basement kitchen, where Kreacher served them all stew and treacle tart. They did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and over their plan until they could recite it, word perfect, to each other.  
The next morning Hazel got out of her sleeping bag and ran to Harry's room.“You look terrible,”was Hazel’s greeting as she entered the room to wake Harry. “Not for long,”said Harry, yawning. They found Hermione and Ron downstairs in the kitchen. They were being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that Haz associated with exam review. “Robes,” Hermione said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, “Polyjuice Potion . . . Invisibility Cloak . . . Decoy Detonators . . . You should each take a couple just in case. . . . Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Nougat, Extendable Ears . . .”They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned. “Bless him,”said Ron fondly, “and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall.”They made their way onto the front step with immense caution: They could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square. Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, and Hazel withh Harry. They were in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. It was as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o’clock. “Right then,” said Hermione, checking her watch. “She ought to be here in about five minutes. When I’ve Stunned her —”  
“Hermione, we know,”.said Ron sternly. “And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?”  
Hermione squealed. “I nearly forgot! Stand back —” She pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside them, which burst open with a crash. The dark corridor behind it led, as they knew from their careful scouting trips, into an empty theater. Hermione pulled the door back toward her, to make it look as though it was still closed. “And now,”she said, turning back to face the other three in the alleyway, “we put on the Cloak again —”  
“—and we wait,”Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione’s head like a blanket over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at Hazel and Harry. Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny pop and a little Ministry witch with flyaway gray hair Apparated feet from them, blinking a little in the sudden brightness; the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. She barely had time to enjoy the unexpected warmth, however, before Hermione’s silent Stunning Spell hit her in the chest and she toppled over. “Nicely done, Hermione,”said Ron, emerging from behind a bin beside the theater door as Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak. Together they carried the little witch into the dark passageway that led backstage. Hermione plucked a few hairs from the witch’s head and added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from the beaded bag. Ron was rummaging through the little witch’s handbag. “She’s Mafalda Hopkirk,” he said, reading a small card that identified their victim as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. “You’d better take this, Hermione, and here are the tokens.” He passed her several small golden coins, all embossed with the letters M.O.M., which he had taken from the witch’s purse. Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope color, and within seconds stood before them, the double of Mafalda Hopkirk. As she removed Mafalda’s spectacles and put them on, Harry checked his watch. “We’re running late, Mr. Magical Maintenance will be here any second.” They hurried to close the door on the real Mafalda; Harry and Ron threw the Invisibility Cloak over themselves but Hermione remained in view, waiting. Seconds later there was another pop, and a small, ferrety-looking wizard appeared before them. “Oh, hello, Mafalda.”

 

PART 2 COMING SOON!!


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